


The Crow and the Griffon

by Ned_the_Nazgul



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dog is best, Eventual Romance, F/M, Horses, How Do I Tag, This tag is made-up, other origins to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ned_the_Nazgul/pseuds/Ned_the_Nazgul
Summary: Karida is no dreamer with starry-eyed notions of adventure and glory. She’d been resigned to her lot as an elf serving in the city with her own share of suffering, keeping her head down and retaliating in her own secret way—until that day she couldn’t stand it anymore. So what if the world was ending? Her life had been forfeit, and now with a second chance at it, she was determined to see her loved ones come to no more harm…  Yet somewhere, somehow, someone made a mistake when it was decided she be conscripted into the Grey Wardens and saddled with a duty far above anything she knew: to stop the Blight, at any cost, from destroying any chance of life for anyone continuing at all.
Relationships: Wouldn't YOU like to know
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Not Warden Material

Karida squinted in the light. She’d been so used to the dark of her cell that the sun blinded her.

“This elf of the Alienage has been found guilty…”

Hair once orange now clumped brown with mud or blood hung hazy above her gaze, which she fixed on the dirt as those shems hauled her between them. She didn’t want to see their faces in the daylight.

“…for the murders of Lord Branden, son of Ban Fallon, and of Lord Jonaley, son of Ban Gren.”

Her hands were bound before her, and on her finger glinted a speckled gold band, pieced together lovingly by an elf she hardly knew. Tears blurred the dirt. _Got what you wanted, didn’t you?_ _This is one way out of a forced wedding._ Blood welled from her lip where she bit down on it hard. They wouldn’t watch her cry anymore.

“And for the brutal slaughter of Lord Vaughn, son of Urien the Arl of Denerim.”

Karida squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the wood of steps beneath her bare feet, leading up onto a dais where there, they forced her to her knees.

“By order of Arlessa Kendalls, in absence of Arl Urien, this elf is hereby sentenced to death.”

As her head was pressed against the block, she thought idly of her mother, long dead many years now, about how Adaia often spoke to Father of how Karida ought to toughen up. _‘If I don’t teach her now, the shems’ are going to chew her up and spit her out to the gutter.’_ It felt as if she’d been dragged through it face-down.

The ax slid off the floor. Her chest went still. At least the pain, the humiliation, would end now.

“May her soul rot in the Black City, for the Maker scorns heathen elves and murderers alike.”

Her neck tingled at the rush of air as the ax whistled down and—

“Stop!”

Karida opened her eyes, blinking at the sun. _Who_ …

“Warden?!”

The ax tapped the floor, doubtful, unsure.

“What is the meaning of this? What do you want now?”

“Her.”

A man formed out of the black shape approaching the platform with the blinding sun behind him, and Duncan was there with a familiar bundle in his arms. Karida lifted her head.

“By order of the Grey Wardens, I conscript this elf into my custody.”

“ _Sod_ it—can’t you take any of the other prisoners, Warden?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Duncan, holding Karida’s fixed eyes. “Unbind her.”

The guard sighed in agitation. “Do it!” and Karida was hoisted to her feet. “I hope you know the Arlessa’s going to give you no end of trouble for this, Warden or no. This knife-ears here butchered her son.”

“Give the Arlessa my condolences, Captain. Karida?” The Warden leaned forward, passing her the bundle. “Come with me.”

 _How does he know!—_ why _is he even here?—conscript?_ Questions chased each other around in her mind, but she was afraid to wonder, afraid to speak for fear of it all being some hopeful dream. So she clutched the familiar little bundle of her life tight and scurried close on Duncan’s heels across the courtyard into a hall, only to skid to a halt behind him at an open closet.

“Here, I am certain you want a change of clothes.” He gestured at the bundle. “Your cousin Soris found them where you’d told him money was hidden.” Karida drew back. “Please hurry. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. You can trust me.”

 _Trust a shem like you?_ Elder Valendreian seemed to, called him an old friend, said he knew Mother. Three days it was since Duncan came to Alienage looking for Adaia. _How long ago it feels…_

Wrapped in her dark blue cloak were her new-old boots, neatly folded and freshly polished by Father as a gift—along with her bow and arrows, her satchel with its lockpicks pouch and matches and rope and crowbar, Flynt’s crude knife, some flash grenades—tools not normally carried while wearing a wedding gown. The torn thing just fell away at her tug. She locked her eyes on the wall so as not to see what had been done. Clean dark clothes covered the hurt.

Without a word Duncan led her onward—until a shem cut them off at a corner, guards in his wake. “Grey Warden, halt. My Arlessa demands you return the elf at once.”

“I’ve invoked the Rite of Conscription on her. By law, I am not allowed to return her.”

“Ser, then if you will not comply, the Arlessa has ordered you and the elf to be removed from the city. Immediately.”

 _Immediately?_ “No. I need to see my family,” Karida found herself say to Duncan, “I need to go home.”

The Warden frowned, “I’m afraid that might not be possible…”

 _Immediately. Impossible._ Guards encircled them, and Karida had no choice but to stay close behind Duncan as they were escorted through the streets of Denerim.

***

The gates closed with a shuddering BOOM behind them. Karida had never once been beyond the city walls. They were just as grey and tall and oppressing from outside as within.

“I…apologize that I couldn’t get them to give you a chance to say your goodbyes.”

“It’s not…” _‘I just want to go home, Karida,’ Shianni whimpered, an ugly bruise masking half her face and blood dribbling from her lips. ‘I just want to go home.’_ “I shouldn’t…” Karida’s eyes swerved to the dirt. Just an hour ago she’d been ready to die. Then Duncan came, basically a complete stranger, and she held hopes of returning home—of seeing Father and Shianni. “Why did you stop them? I killed the Arl’s son. Why didn’t you let them kill me?”

“You were justified. They were not.”

His words felt like a gentle hand on her shoulder. _Justified?_ _‘You think anyone’ll believe a little knife-eared sneak-thief’s word over a_ human’s _?!...You’re nobody, just some elf-whore…Damaged goods…’_ Justified. No shemlen had told her anything like that before. “Thank you…then.” Her eyes went to his before darting back to the gravel. “Can I go home now?”

“I’ve conscripted you; you’re bound to be a Grey Warden now. You cannot go home.”

She shook her head, “You’ve got it all wrong—I’m not Grey Warden material. I don’t even know what they do.” Something about demons or darkspawn—fairy-tale things the Chantry buffoons spoke about when they came to the Alienage on Sundays. “Not to mention, I don’t even know how to fight—elves aren’t _supposed_ to have swords. I belong with my family. Just let me go home!”

“You’re mistaken. We need people like you, people willing to fight or die protecting those who can’t. And on the contrary, you’re quite capable in a scrap, Soris explained that much. Besides, if you return now, the Arlessa’s men will find you and finish their execution.” He paused, considering her. “And if you escape me, I am sworn to hunt you down. You’ve no choice _but_ to come with me.”

 _There’s never any choice!_ “You mean…I won’t be able to see my father again? My cousins?”

“I can’t answer that. As a Grey Warden, you are sworn to fight darkspawn until you die.”

A sigh broke from her and she cast her eyes to the sky as tears welled in them. _This,_ this shit was it?! _You get a second chance at life only to be denied everyone you love?!_ It wasn’t _fair_!

“But time is short—I am needed back in Ostagar as soon as possible, so we must be on the road. I will explain more later. Follow me.” And he turned his back on her.

Karida stood her ground, clenching her teeth. _I_ am _going home!_ She fled for the wall, her mother’s soft boots almost silent on the gravel, and she kept running into the trees. There might be sewage drains along these outer walls, like in the Alienage, that she could crawl through. Or maybe she could slip in with a group of travelers when the gates opened next. Or—she jolted to a halt at the hand which yanked her back by her shoulder and she spun with a snarl, but Duncan shook her sternly.

“What good do you think running will do, conscript?” he snapped, wheeling her back to the road. “They’ll raze the Alienage to find you if you hide.” Karida flung herself from his grasp, almost sobbing at the horrible pin-prickling feeling his skin sent through her. She shoved her curled fist into her mouth to bite down on. “And I do not say this lightly—I have to kill you if you run.” He made to push her, but hesitated at her flinch. “I—do not flee again.”

Tears blinded her when she blinked, and she slumped her shoulders as she followed the Warden.

At least there was warm stew to welcome with her grumbling, aching belly, and Karida had barely enough time to eat her fill before Duncan assembled the ragtag group of men he called his recruits and gave some speech about a debt the conscripts owed Thedas for their crimes, before he turned his horse about and reached a hand down to Karida.

“A-am I never coming back here?”

His dark eyes met hers. “Only the Maker knows. Now climb up.”

Biting her lip, she grasped for a strap of the saddle instead while stretching her toe up to the stirrup. Duncan grabbed the back of her collar suddenly and hoisted her up like a cat. “Hold on!”

“To what?!” she blurted, just before he kicked the beast into motion.

Never had she thought the rhythm of a horse would be so nauseating. Green farmland tore past like leaves in a strong wind, and Karida struggled hard swallowing back her lunch, her knuckles white against the brown saddle. Respites were few and far between, and Karida fell each time getting of the horse from how sore her legs were. Three more days to Lothering, Duncan told her, one last town just a day north of the Kokari Wilds.

In the woods that night, Karida nervously held open an oat sack for one horse while Duncan tended another. A fire was being built and some recruits sat preparing hares for dinner. One of them glanced up at Duncan, a rabbit in one hand and pointing with a wide knife in the other, “Why not make the elf do this? That’s why you brought her along, innit?”

Heat rose steadily up Karida’s back as she glared over the horse’s mane at the shem. The blade he held was too fine a metal for some clumsy cutpurse like him.

“Knife-ears aren’t supposed to have weapons anyways.”

“Anyone of any race is accepted into the ranks of the Grey Wardens, Martin.”

“Even idiots like you,” the Warden leaning on a longbow said, nudging the man with his boot. “Shut-up now and get those hares cooking. I’m starving.”

With supper over and everyone settling into sleeping rolls or their cloaks, Karida remained close to the flames, near Duncan and the other two Wardens who spoke in hushed tones. She stayed her prickling ears from listening, and caught movement out the corner of her eye—it was a figure rising slow from its bedroll before making a dash for the shadows among the trees. _What’s his plan, I wonder_ … A horse neighed suddenly. The Wardens sprang to their feet. _Too bad..._

“Get back here, Brom,” Duncan shouted, “or I’ll have no choice!” Retreating hoof beats were his response, so a signal to the longbow-man sent an arrow whizzing through the air so fast that Karida hadn’t even seen the Warden notch it first. _WHUMP_. Brom shrieked. Then, there was a dull thud. The horse whinnied loudly and pawed the dirt.

Duncan looked over the bleary-eyed recruits just scrambling from their sleep. “Let this be your first warning. Next time, death will be harsher.”

Karida remained wide-awake will after the rest bedded back down. Snores and slow breathing told her when it was safe to raise her head. The fire was all embers now, and the only light came from the moon peeking shyly through the treetops. No figure stood watch. Quick to gather her satchel, she stole past the fire pit between slumbering forms, making for the stream she’d heard babbling earlier—

“I hope you’re not trying to run again.”

Her heart leapt up into her throat as her feet leapt off the ground—Duncan emerged from the foliage behind her. She ground her teeth. Stupid, _stupid_! Of course they’d set a sentry!

“Because then I would have to kill you.” He frowned. “I’d rather not, if I can help it.”

Pulse still racing, she said, “I wasn’t running.” _Not really_. “I wanted to go to the stream. To bathe.”

His unkind manner dropped away all at once as he folded his arms. Not meeting his eyes, and chewing the inside of her cheek, Karida asked, “Please…promise me you won’t speak of what…what happened to me.” Her ring glinted dully in the moonlight. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

He swore on his honor as a Grey Warden that he would say nothing, and then warned her not to take too long. “I’ll have to go looking for you then.”

***

With arms wrapped around her chest, Karida shivered into the cold stream and stared down at her reflection which rippled back at her with puffy, purpled eyes and split lips. She’d nothing but her own nails to scrub the dried blood from her aching, bruised skin. Then for a while, she sat, watching red diffuse away into the water. _Is it all mine?_ As though fingers gripped her lungs tight in a fist, she found it hard to breathe and began to shake. _Maker, make it stop._ Tears added their water to the stream. “It was for nothing,” she whispered into her hands. “I didn’t save Shianni. I couldn’t even save myself…”

Thoughts like those were all that kept her company in the dark of her dungeon cell, amongst…other things. _‘Nobody’s going to care…just damaged goods.’_

It wasn’t until her shaking subsided and her tears ran dry did she finish bathing. No sign of Duncan on the way back. Her satchel smelled faintly of ash and woodchips when she lay her head down far from the other recruits. Yet, rest was not kind, for laughter and screams plagued her dreams, and when Duncan woke her in the morn, she felt as though she’d not slept at all.

The next two days seemed to stretch on as long as the plains did. They crossed no other soul along the Imperial Highway. Karida fervently fought to occupy herself with plans for escape, but groping hands and forceful whispers pressed their way to the foreground of her thoughts. Even Duncan’s explanation of the situation at Ostagar, of darkspawn and griffons and Archdemons failed to stem them.

Through a torrential downpour were they delivered to Lothering. Duncan returned to the inn late from his errands, shaking water from his cloak and relaying how most of the townsfolk fled north in fear of the battle going sour and darkspawn advancing beyond Ostagar. “This is the biggest attack they’ve made outside the Deep Roads in hundreds of years. When they surface in such numbers, the probability of a Blight must be acknowledged.”

Recruits were playing cards on the stairs while the innkeeper wiped mugs clean. The fire crackled softly and suddenly was drowned out by a sudden clap of thunder. “What exactly is an Archdemon?” Karida asked.

“The Chantry says it is the soul of an Old God, reborn as a great dragon that drives the darkspawn—it is their commander. One appears only every few centuries or so. It is our duty as Grey Wardens to see that the darkspawn are held in check, and to defeat an Archdemon should it rise.”

Rain pounded the windowpane beside her. The small flickering lights of homes across the bridge were all she could see in the dark. “Why did you become a Grey Warden?”

Duncan looked at her over his shoulder. Water trickled down his crooked nose into the black tangle of his beard. “I didn’t have a choice.” Then he turned back to the fire.

Karida’s fist fell from her cheek as her lip twitched in anger. _Why didn’t you give me one, then?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’ve been working on this story for some time now and hadn’t really meant to post it online when I first began writing.  
> I've been mostly using it as writing exercise, and I apologize for any weird verb-tense or abrupt sentence cut-offs; how I've got the story arranged currently is a frankenstein of its original setup.  
> Now that I've finally gotten up the nerve to just throw it out here, I hope someone might enjoy reading it (and quarantine is a really good time to finally getting around to posting). Please note: it touches on hard topics like rape, its trauma and aftermath, panic attacks, the goriness of fighting, and much of the horror of DA: O. And of course, all rights go to Bioware for the characters, themes, and places. Thank them for creating a world such as Thedas that has sparked the imagination of countless players. And thanks for taking the time to read this.


	2. We Are Going to be Friends

An enormous, crumbling stone archway over which draped a huge red flag with the twin rampant mabaris of the King welcomed them into the ancient fortress of Ostagar. Soldiers were stationed along the winding walled hillside that the Wardens climbed, passing by a tower which soared from the ruins like a ship’s mast, and then they crossed a wide stone bridge that gave Karida vertigo to look over its edge. Tents clustered like ant mounds with flags fluttering above the party as they traveled below them—the sun of the Chantry, a huge brown bear, and then a white flag with a grey-winged lion with a bird’s head rippling in the wind.

Men in grey splintmail rose as Duncan introduced them. Heavy, stiff grey leather that smelled of musty body odor was thrust into Karida’s hands, too large for her small frame even with the straps as tight as possible. But before Karida could fall into the line for lunch, Duncan called her over and instructed her to find three men. _Why send me and not someone who actually knows these shems?_ Duncan bade her hurry if she wanted there to be food left.

 _What’s he playing at? Testing if I run again? Or just treating me like what I am, some simple elf to run messages?_ She’d done as much in her youth. But speaking with strange shemlen men…her eyes swerved to the sky as she bit the inside of her cheek. _No, I will not think of…_

Under the sun-blazoned flags she found no grey-clad men among the Chantry Sisters. _What_ if _I run?_ Duncan wouldn’t know, not until she was already gone. _But to where?_ She scurried out the way of a group of soldiers in the street, her head downcast, and she jumped from the dogs that lunged and barked wildly in their kennels close to her. _I…I don’t know how to survive out there, in the Wilds…_ Or, she shuddered, commandeer a horse.

The blue flag with the black tower marked the Circle of Magi’s encampment, she learned, a place of which she knew little about save that mages caught outside it were hunted like her aunt had been, by specialized Chantry soldiers called Templars. Two such men guarded the big stripped tent, wearing shining silver plate and purple capes sewn with a gold sun. Bright lights through the tent’s entrance-flap drew her, pulsing and flickering about the heads and hands of several robed figures within.

“They’re not to be disturbed.”

Karida leapt, looking to the guard on her right—or had the left one spoken? Those clunky square helms hid their faces. “If you’ve a message, Enchanter Wynne is over there. Now move along.”

Wordlessly she hurried away. Enchanted lockpicks and spelled arrows were the only magic Flynt taught her about—never had he shown her _actual_ magic! How were they doing that, without matches or powders? _Could I learn?_ Her feet followed the path automatically while her mind lost itself in wondering, and up the stone ramp she found grey armor on a tall, blond man who argued with a mage in robes red as his face.

“Look, all I’m saying is don’t persecute the messenger.” An engraved griffon faced her while the red man stormed off. “Besides, I thought we were getting along so well!” He gave Karida a weak smile, holding up his hands helplessly. “You know, one good thing about this Blight is how it brings people together.”

“Huh?” But the red man had gone; no one else was behind Karida.

He chuckled, “I know, I know, you’re going to call me strange.” He paused, only then seeming to take her all in. “Wait, we haven’t met. I don’t suppose you’re a mage?” She folded her arms as she shook her head quick, chewing her cheek as inside she squirmed under his gaze. “Good, I like to know my chances of being turned into a toad.” _Awfully chipper for a Warden._ Then again, all she had to base that on was somber Duncan. “Wait, you’re one of the new recruits, from Denerim! I shouldn’t known, with the initiate armor and all…”

“Yes. Duncan sent me to fetch you.” _Stop looking at me._

“Oh, did he?” The Warden’s face screwed up in a silly look “If the Revered Mother hadn’t made _me_ run her errands, I’d’ve been at camp waiting with the others. Anyway, name’s Alistair,” he held out his hand, “pleased to meet you…?” She didn’t take his hand, and muttered her own name. “Allllllllriiight then. Well met, Karida. So you’ve fetched me. Now what?”

They went to find the other two recruits, one Daveth and the other Ser Jory. Then finally she was allowed lunch. Afterwards, Alistair guided them up to a practice area where they were issued a short-sword and shield each.

Karida gripped the hilt white-knuckled. She’d be cut down for being seen just holding this in Denerim. It wasn’t nearly as heavy as—as the Arl’s son’s sword. _She threw the blade to the ground, the rampant mabari on its silver cross-guard snarling silently at the sky._ Now the shield was a different story—she nearly dropped it while taking it one-handed from the rack. Its metal rim was dented and the painted griffon on its face sun-bleached. _How do I even hold it right?_

“Duncan tells me that you’ve all had some combat experience,” Alistair said. Karida supported the weight of the shield with her hip. All the combat she’d ever done was practice with daggers against Flynt or sticks with Soris. _The knife sunk into the soft exposed flesh of his back—_ or…murder. “While whatever you might know will no doubt come in handy, I’ll be teaching you basic battle maneuvers. Follow my movements.”

Karida’s shoulder ached to an excruciating point where she could no longer lift her shield, and the Wardens barked at her to keep moving when she stopped to rest it, so when evening came her exhaustion dragged her feet downstairs listlessly. She moved through the motions of helping prepare dinner like one only half-awake.

The work wasn’t over after they’d eaten; there was the pile of dishes to clean. That loutish recruit Martin covered a yawn, “That’s the elf’s job.”

His face wavered in the firelight across from Karida’s glare. _Again?_ For the entirety of their journey, he’d been quick to point out all Karida’s flaws and blame them on her race. The longbow-Warden told him to knock it off. Yet Martin dropped his wooden bowl loudly. “You didn’t really bring a knife-ears along to fight, didja? Shoulda seent how well she drops a shield. They’re good for nothin’ but cleaning.” One of the other conscripts snickered. Martin winked at him, then smirked at Karida. “Aye, and bendin’ over.” He kicked his bowl to her.

 _‘Knife-eared whore... Stay still, knife-ears!’_ Jaw shuddering, Karida kicked burning coals from the fire-pit right at him, and as he howled, clawing at his face, she snatched a flaming stick and dove at him.

“Karida!” Duncan yelled. Someone grabbed her collar just as she swung. “ _Karida_!”

Martin was shrieking by the time she was wrenched back. His shirt was smoking where she’d managed to whack his shoulder, all of it blurry through her hot tears. Her chest heaved through the tautness of her lungs.

“What in the black hells is wrong with you?!”

“See to Martin, Alistair. Karida, with me,” Duncan growled, turning her with him away from the fire. She felt their eyes on her back as she went passed, scowling at the dirt. When they were well away, Duncan wheeled on her, neck flushed with anger. “I do not care what any of them say—you attack no one. Only if your life is in danger will I condone it! Have you lost your wits?!”

She wouldn’t respond.

“Look at me.”

Karida scowled harder at her boot laces.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he repeated. Her head rose slowly. “I do not mean to disparage the pain you’ve gone through, but if you are to survive, you _must_ move past it.” His dark eyes held hers steadily. “Especially if you do manage to become a Grey Warden. You cannot let angers or fear consume you, or you will be destroyed from within. Am I understood?”

She felt like a child chided, and in her frustration she sneered, “What changes so much when you’re a Warden?”

The harrowing look he gave her made her sober, however. “Everything, Karida. You are not the same once you go through the Joining.”

***

WHUMP _._ WHUMP. Karida let fly one arrow, then another. Notching a third, she furrowed her brow. ‘ _Knife-ears…’_ The bowstring grew taut. _‘Now you have to uphold your end of the bargain, knife-ears.’_ Growling, she released, and the arrow landed square in the straw dummy’s groin.

As punishment, she’d been made to clean all the dishes before running laps around the practice terrace. Though beyond exhausted, Karida was too furious to sleep and she’d strung her mother’s bow once Duncan left. Often, she would shoot in the dark behind her family’s home when she was irate.

The next arrow buried itself in the dummy’s throat. His gurgling was clear as day in her ear. Swiftly, she sent another straight through its charcoal eye. _‘I…I can’t see.’_ She took a deep breath. _‘You bitch!’_ She stepped back. _Karida leapt back from his clumsy sword swipe, baring her teeth as she realized he’s driven her into a corner. ‘Come any closer, human, and I’ll take out the other eye!’_

The feather tickled her ear. _‘Your death will be slow and painful. Yours and all your little knife-eared friends! Drop the dagger!’_

 _Blood spurted between her fingers as the knife sank into his neck. Then again, and again—again and again—again, again, again._ An arrow struck the dummy’s chest. Then another. And another. Another. _She twisted the knife, wrenching it across his shoulder as he shrieked, his voice growing weak, blood running across the flagstones, reddening the green rug._

_And then he was dead._

“Hello?”

Karida jolted, an arrow hurtling mid-draw at Alistair’s foot just outside the ring.

“That’s, ah, very deadly shooting.” He glanced at her dummy. “I for one can’t shoot shit. But, I can shoot the shit.” Karida moved on to the next dummy. “Look I think we got off on the wrong foot. You almost shot mine. What do you say we reintroduce ourselves?” He sounded so earnest like Soris, looked so expectant like him, that Karida had to turn to him. “My name’s Alistair, junior Grey Warden, and you are…?” Karida turned to send an arrow right at the second dummy’s nose. “Ooook, you seem to be missing my point.” He waved his hand in front of her, “And you are?”

“Karida,” she spat, rolling her eyes as she pushed away his hand with her bow.

“Good, good start. Well now that’s over with, why don’t we chat? As junior Grey Warden, I’m kind of in charge of seeing to the initiates, making sure everyone’s getting along ok and so forth. So, are you ok?”

“This bow is all I have left of my mother after I watched her die. I’ve practiced with it most every night since, imagining that the hay targets are the humans who killed her.”

“Ah, oh,” and Alistair went quiet, before muttering, “Well, I can see this’ll go nowhere... Do you have any questions for me?”

 _No you shem idiot, can’t you see?! Knife-eared serving wench sneak-thieves don’t belong on a battlefield! Unless, wait..._ “What’s the Joining?”

“Great question,” and he sucked air through his teeth, “but not an elaborate-able one. I can’t tell you anything about it, except just try not to worry about it—it’ll just distract you.”

 _Useless_. Karida faced the dummy again , raising her bow.

“Anything else…?” When she didn’t reply, he groaned, “Are you always this friendly?”

Metal clanging was his answer as the dummy’s dented helm clattered against the terrace stone.

“Hoo boy, been _thrilling_ chatting with you, Karida.” But as he went to go, he glanced over his shoulder. “By the way, you gave that conscript first-degree burns. And from what I’ve heard, I think he deserved it.”

***

 _Laughter_. _No, i_ t was screaming. The Arl’s son, screaming. Shouting. Men were shouting.

Karida scrambled bleary-eyed from her new bedroll in her new tent out into the grey new morning. Wardens were flinging initiate tents open while unfamiliar knights marched up to Duncan. A conscript had been caught trying to make off with their lord’s horse. Martin was to hang by dawn.

Another conscript had escaped, though. _How had those shems spotted an opportunity I’d missed?_ Her fingers mechanically re-braided her unruly curly orange hair.

Alistair soon rounded up the remaining initiates by the bonfire. “So the morning’s off to a bad start. But don’t worry—that doesn’t mean we’re off schedule. In fact, I’ve had the great idea that since we’re already awake,” the sun wasn’t yet risen, “we might as well get to it!”

“It’s not even dawn yet—can’t we sleep some more?”

“Or at least eat breakfast?”

“Darkspawn aren’t going to wait for the sun or your stomach, Daveth,” Alistair said seriously, before smiling with a clap of his hands. “Now hup-hup, after me initiates!”

Parry, lunge, riposte—they rehearsed all they learned yesterday, and after breakfast Alistair paired them all up. “No more dummies. Today we get to hack at each other like real men! Won’t that be fun?” Left the odd man out, Karida was used as Alistair’s demonstrating partner.

“One of you stand like she is, shield level at your chest,” Alistair pushed her wrist higher and she jumped back, cold breaking across her clammy skin. “While—come on—the other stands like this.” Buckler lowered, he moved in front of her and raised his sword. “Then go in a sweeping arc. The defensive should thrust down their shield to meet my blade.” He pulled her shield, making a face. “Come _on_ , hit me.” Karida blinked, and awkwardly thrust her shield at his sword with a CLUNK. “Good. I push back, and the other person should bring their own sword up.” He grabbed the hilt of her sword over her sweaty gloved hand and jerked it up so her dull blade crashed into the side of his chest. She could _feel_ hands gripping her shoulders and shivered. _‘That’s what happens when you try to teach a whore some manners.’_ “See? That’s one technique…”

Karida’s chest was heaving and no amount of air seemed to renew her lungs. She fought back the tears, hiding her eyes under the brim of her too-large helmet. Once Alistair was satisfied everyone had the exercise down, he had them repeat it in mock-combat, this time taking his place across from Karida.

The visor of his helm fell over his smile. “Now don’t throw coals at me,” he warned, earning a laugh from the rest. Karida glowered. But it was no difficult feat to best her—thrice in a row, before Alistair gave them respite. “You know, I might have to take back what I said about Martin deserving those burns, if this _is_ how you fight.”

Karida grit her teeth at the start of the next round, shaking her head of those forceful whispers. Countless nights she’d spent sparring knives with Flynt—evading, distracting, playing dirty—if she couldn’t out-swing Alistair, maybe she would throw coals.

Through narrowed eyes she watched how he moved as he swiped—where he planted his feet, how his ankles turned, where his bulk shifted when he lunged. “Stop jumping and hit me!” Just then, he threw all his weight onto his right foot while leaning forward, sword overhead. It cleaved air above her, as she, staggering low to the ground, snatched a fistful of dirt and flung into his eye-slit. “Gah!” His shield-hand quickly went to his face—sword unmoving. And she lunged to jab him clear in the throat.

“H-hey!” he coughed, “Dirty trick!”

That uneasy cold washed over her hot skin again and she flinched, involuntarily, before instantly chastising herself. _No, this shem wouldn’t hit me._ Not like Flynt, who beat her for faltering.

Alistair grinned crookedly as he pulled of his helmet. “I guess nobody says you have to fight fair against darkspawn anyway.” He pushed back his sweaty blond hair, “And then again, you need a lot more practice. You’ll strain your back holding the sword like that, and you’ve got to bend your knees more. Here, watch me…” 


	3. Into the Unknown

Life rushed back into her gasping lungs. Karida sat bolt upright, trying to focus the swimming faces around her.

“It is finished.”

Karida patted her sides in disbelief, nostrils flaring. Duncan helped her to her feet.

“Welcome aboard,” one the Wardens said with an unhappy smile.

Another thumped her shoulder. “Been a long while since we’d an elf in the ranks.”

“Two more deaths.” Only one died in Alistair’s Joining. _How comforting._

Duncan eyed her. “How do you feel?

Karida held her throbbing head. “Sick,” she said, eyeing Jory’s corpse.

“He was warned as well as you. When he went for his blade, however, he left me no choice. It brought me no pleasure to end his life.” His gaze traveled slowly to Daveth. “The Blight demands sacrifices of us all. Thankfully, you stand as proof that not all are made in vain.”

Alistair mentioned what terrible dreams he continued to have since his Joining. _Continuing comforting consolation. Would be a shame to tell initiates_ before _this. Wouldn’t want to discourage anyone._

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn. That, and many other things will come to light in the upcoming weeks.” Duncan presented her grey splintmail on new, supple leather that was altered to fit her better, with the griffon-etched breastplate on top. Consolation for not dying. _Oh, and sit in on a meeting with the King? Sign me right back up for the headsman’s block._

“Uh,” Karida held her abdomen, her stomach roiling, “I…might need a minute.”

So Duncan bade her meet them in the old throne room while Alistair gave an encouraging smile. But the bile churning up her throat bade her sprint, hands over her mouth, for the trees where black fluid splashed the grass. She wiped her lips on the palm of her gauntlet and kicked dirt over her mess, before hurrying to the well. Water washed away the awful mix of blood and vomit. _Shianni would never believe me._ What she would even say were she here… _‘Why didn’t you throw the chalice back in Duncan’s face?’ Why didn’t I?_

***

The King stood in his golden armor and crowned helm at the head of a long table, with military commanders, lords, mages, Chantry folk, and Grey Wardens gathered round. Alistair and Duncan made room for her as the King argued with some dour old shem whose scowl seemed fixed to his face.

“The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines!”

A suit made all of gold… Flynt might just faint if she planted that on his desk. A broach of sapphire at the Revered Mother’s throat, garnets gleaming from some bann’s hand, even lyrium bottles tied to mages’ belts would fetch a pretty penny. Karida’s pickpocket hands itched to pick ripe, fat shem pockets, and they flew up in surprise when Duncan held her shoulder. “Only one, your Majesty.”

The golden armor looked at her. She wished she could melt away right on the spot. “Oh. Well, every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.”

“I’ll remind you it was a _Warden_ conscript that almost stole my horse,” growled the sour man, eyes flashing to Karida as if _she_ were the problem. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing. You should…” _Too much, too much staring, too many eyes._ She slipped from Duncan’s grasp.

***

“You mean we won’t be in the battle?” Alistair’s disappointed voice preceded their approach to the bonfire where Karida sat petting a stray black dog. Duncan said it was the King’s personal request that the two new Wardens light the beacon of Ishal to alert Teyrn Loghain, the sour dour man, and his reinforcements to charge. “So he needs two Grey Wardens up there holding the torch just in case, right?” _Out of the fighting? Works for me._

“The King’s word is final. I cannot argue with him, and neither should you.”

“Well, just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.” Karida had checked her smile at Alistair’s last remark, but couldn’t stop from snorting now. Duncan’s glare made her cover her mouth.

“Now...” He went on to explain where they needed to go, when to light the signal.

The dog leaned into the ear-rub Karida was giving it. That strange, thunderous roaring echoed in her mind.”What do we do if an Archdemon shows up?”

“We soil our drawers, that’s what.”

“If that happens, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you.” Mabari bayed and armored boots marched. “The battle will begin shortly; you’ll have only an hour. Be sure you are prepared, and do what you must. I trust you both.”

“Just not enough to actually fight with the rest of you.”

Chuckling, Duncan rested a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “There will be plenty of battles. Just be patient. Now, if you’re quite finished, I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are a Grey Warden,” he told Karida. “I expect you both to be worthy of that title.”

“Duncan,” Alistair blurted, his face suddenly drawn. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“May He watch over us all.”

After Duncan departed, Alistair ran to gather his equipment. Karida strapped on her shield , Duncan’s bonfire reflecting in her eyes, when she saw the leather tube hanging from that shaggy dog’s mouth. “What are you doing with the treaties?” _More trouble that it’d be worth to sell them…_ The dog planted them at her feet. “Oh, thanks.” But when she looked up, the dog was gone, and the only thing there was a crow perched up on the griffon flagpole.

“Why do you have those?” Alistair asked suddenly.

“I—I uh, they were just here by the fire, unguarded. Don’t you think these shouldn’t just be left lying around? What is they burned or something?”

“Hm…you’ve got a point. Maybe we should hold onto them, in case. Not like we’re going to run into much trouble babysitting the signal fire anyway.” He took the strap and they made for the bridge.

Below, the forces of Ferelden were amassed. And across the valley in the shadow of the trees loomed the darkspawn. Lightning cracked overhead, momentarily drowning out the rhythmic beating of their drums. Even from up here their shrieks raised the hair on her arms. Massive beasts with horns as thick as a horse’s neck lumbered among them.

Chaos exploded down there when the armies clashed. And chaos greeted Karida and Alistair in the Tower of Ishal with fire. And screaming. Snarling. The ground was rent—darkspawn crawled from its depths—soldiers were dragged mangled into the darkness. The panic of the bloodbath muffled the panic of Karida’s shrieking mind so that she had to focus her trembling hands to loose countless arrows, and clamber over the burning wreckage to the stairs, shoving bodies out the way.

To lighten the mood, Alistair breathlessly quipped, “Turns out, we get to fight after all!” It didn’t go over so well with the few live bodies that followed then. A smile cracked the dry blood on Karida’s lips.

Up, up, up the many darkspawn, corpse-strewn, gore-spattered staircases to the top—where all of them skidded to a halt into each other when Alistair stopped short. “Maker’s breath!”

Hulking, horns scraping the ceiling, an ogre stood chewing a man’s torso. The rest of him was sprinkled in slivers like jellied beetroot. Shreds of red dangled between the ogre’s jagged tusks, and when it saw them gawking on the stairs, it gave such a bellow that the walls shook. Fat, foul, bloody droplets rained on Karida’s upraised arms, before the torso came hurtling towards them. An unwary soldier went screaming down the stairs hugging it. Alistair ducked under his shield to take the full forse of ogre-fist that sent him sliding into a wall.

Karida’s arrow found its cheek. Howling, it swung at her and she rolled away. She reached back into her quiver, fingers stretching frantically for an arrow not to be found. Eyes wide in disbelief, she swapped her bow for her buckler and held her sword uncertainly. She would have to get _close_?

Fire exploded from a mage’s staff against the ogre’s forehead and a soldier sliced the back of its leg, so it dropped to one knee. _A chance!_ An idea she didn’t ponder. Sprinting while the ogre held its face, Karida lunged sword-first for its belly. Shrieking, its huge fat clawing fingers clamped around her leg—her shield slipped as the ground dropped away. Both her hands managed to wrench her blade free before roaring hot spittle splattered her cheeks. Karida snapped her eyes open, her heart in her ears, and found she was hanging upside down above those yellow, gnashing teeth. She screamed, flailing to slash its nose while it lowered her. Panting, gasping, she twisted to grab a claw with one hand to pull herself up while slamming her sword down with the other. Its HOWL deafened her momentarily.

Then she was weightless—before the ground came rushing to meet her. Metal clattered to the floor as the air slammed out of her lungs. Faintly, fireballs erupted and Alistair yelled, and the ogre groaned. She groaned too, her ankle throbbing, and Karida tried to drag herself as the beast began to fall. Abruptly a body tackled her out the way, and both she and Alistair slid from under its crashing bulk.

They lay there a moment, eyes wide and chests heaving. Then a grin broke across his face. “Nice one, Karida! Thought you were ogre-dinner for a moment.” He thumped her on the shoulder as he drew her with him to their feet. The tips of her ears went hot under her helmet. Too out of breath to realize it came not from the panic of the ogre but the panic of his touch. “Nothing like a brush with death to make you…not like death much.”

She limped off to reclaim her sword and shield. “How did something that big even fit up those narrow stairs?” she muttered. Alistair led the way up more stairs to an open turret where he climbed the six-foot pile of wood to slash the ropes suspending the oil pan over it.

“I hope we’re not too late.” He flung his torch onto the beacon and hot air blasted Karida’s uplifted arms.

Forest and fortress blocked much of the battlefield below, but the hundreds of bonfires dotting the ground like flickering stars made the red of carnage visible. That’s where this beacon came in, for the reinforcements to see and turn the tide—gathered there now on the bridge, but, she squinted, they were…

“They’re going the wrong way!” Disbelief choked Alistair’s voice. “No, no, I’ve got to get down there!”

Karida glanced from the retreating soldiers to a retreating Alistair. “Wait!” she cried, limping after him. _Maybe the King called everyone back, maybe the Wardens were with the Teyrn’s men._ Snarling echoed in the round chamber and arrows whizzed overhead. There were so many of them, crawling from the doorway like ants, so _many_ darkspawn. Alistair dove out the way. Karida raised her shield. _So many_. She turned back for the stairs. Pain erupted in her forearm—an arrow was buried in her bracer. Another punched through the armor of her shoulder. _No!_ Her vision swam, _No, not yet!_ She scrabbled desperately for the bolt in her arm, her eyes rolling up into her skull, and then…

_‘Sh_ _i_ _a_ _n_ _n_ _i is safe?’_

_‘I promise.’ His breath was warm against her neck. She flinched. ‘I am a man of my word, after all.’_

_‘P-please…’ She turned her head, and clutched the brick of the wall behind her white-knuckled. Dull rumbling rolled in the distance of her mind as fingers fumbled hungry at her skin. ‘You’ve no right to do this!’ Rumbling gave way to growling._

_SLAP. ‘I have every right!’ SLAP. Her head hit the wall. ‘You’re nobody—merely an elf. I am a human, a lord, the heir of the Arl!’ SLAP. ‘Besides,’ his lips brushed her ear, ‘you_ owe _me, little knife-ears. Don’t make me get the other girl instead…’_

 _‘Stop—n-no!’ But they held her down, laughing as she sobbed. Laughter gave way to snarling and now she was running, clad only in her tattered wedding gown, deafened by the thunderous gnashing in her head, followed by the growling gnashing of darkspawn chasing her. Nothing, no sword, no bow—just_ run _. Keep running. But it was so difficult, so hard to stagger through the sludge. Lie down and sleep… Sleep… Weight slammed into her shoulder and she fell screaming into the mud. Darkspawn fell on her, screeching howling gnashing. She tried to shield her neck from the descending blade. She watched her head roll severed into the water—pain exploded in her skull—as jagged, gnashing teeth closed around her with a bloodcurdling shriek._


	4. Not How Anyone Was Expecting

Life rushed back into her gasping lungs. Karida sat bolt upright, trying to focus the swimming faces around her.

“It is finished.”

Karida patted her sides in disbelief, nostrils flaring. Duncan helped her to her feet.

“Welcome aboard,” one the Wardens said with an unhappy smile.

Another thumped her shoulder. “Been a long while since we’d an elf in the ranks.”

“Two more deaths.” Only one died in Alistair’s Joining. _How comforting._

Duncan eyed her. “How do you feel?

Karida held her throbbing head. “Sick,” she said, eyeing Jory’s corpse.

“He was warned as well as you. When he went for his blade, however, he left me no choice. It brought me no pleasure to end his life.” His gaze traveled slowly to Daveth. “The Blight demands sacrifices of us all. Thankfully, you stand as proof that not all are made in vain.”

Alistair mentioned what terrible dreams he continued to have since his Joining. _Continuing comforting consolation. Would be a shame to tell initiates_ before _this. Wouldn’t want to discourage anyone._

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn. That, and many other things will come to light in the upcoming weeks.” Duncan presented her grey splintmail on new, supple leather that was altered to fit her better, with the griffon-etched breastplate on top. Consolation for not dying. _Oh, and sit in on a meeting with the King? Sign me right back up for the headsman’s block._

“Uh,” Karida held her abdomen, her stomach roiling, “I…might need a minute.”

So Duncan bade her meet them in the old throne room while Alistair gave an encouraging smile. But the bile churning up her throat bade her sprint, hands over her mouth, for the trees where black fluid splashed the grass. She wiped her lips on the palm of her gauntlet and kicked dirt over her mess, before hurrying to the well. Water washed away the awful mix of blood and vomit. _Shianni would never believe me._ What she would even say were she here… _‘Why didn’t you throw the chalice back in Duncan’s face?’ Why didn’t I?_

***

The King stood in his golden armor and crowned helm at the head of a long table, with military commanders, lords, mages, Chantry folk, and Grey Wardens gathered round. Alistair and Duncan made room for her as the King argued with some dour old shem whose scowl seemed fixed to his face.

“The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines!”

A suit made all of gold… Flynt might just faint if she planted that on his desk. A broach of sapphire at the Revered Mother’s throat, garnets gleaming from some bann’s hand, even lyrium bottles ties to mages’ belts would fetch a pretty penny. Karida’s pickpocket hands itched to pick ripe, fat pockets, and they flew up in surprise when Duncan held her shoulder. “Only one, your Majesty.”

The golden armor looked at her. She wished she could melt away right on the spot. “Oh. Well, every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.”

“I’ll remind you it was a _Warden_ conscript that almost stole my horse,” growled the sour man, eyes flashing to Karida as if _she_ were the problem. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing. You should…” _Too much, too much staring, too many eyes._ She slipped from Duncan’s grasp.

***

“You mean we won’t be in the battle?” Alistair’s disappointed voice preceded their approach to the bonfire where Karida sat petting a stray black dog. Duncan said it was the King’s personal request that the two new Wardens light the beacon of Ishal to alert Teyrn Loghain, the sour dour man, and his reinforcements to charge. “So he needs two Grey Wardens up there holding the torch just in case, right?” _Out of the fighting? Works for me._

“The King’s word is final. I cannot argue with him, and neither should you.”

“Well, just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.” Karida had checked her smile at Alistair’s last remark, but couldn’t stop from snorting now. Duncan’s glare made her cover her mouth.

“Now...” He went on to explain where they needed to go, when to light the signal.

The dog leaned into the ear-rub Karida was giving it. That strange, thunderous roaring echoed in her mind.”What do we do if an Archdemon shows up?”

“We soil our drawers, that’s what.”

“If that happens, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you.” Mabari bayed and armored boots marched. “The battle will begin shortly; you’ll have only an hour. Be sure you are prepared, and do what you must. I trust you both.”

“Just not enough to actually fight with the rest of you.”

Chuckling, Duncan rested a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “There will be plenty of battles. Just be patient. Now, if you’re quite finished, I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are a Grey Warden,” he told Karida. “I expect you both to be worthy of that title.”

“Duncan,” Alistair blurted, his face suddenly drawn. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“May He watch over us all.”

After Duncan departed, Alistair ran to gather his equipment. Karida strapped on her shield , Duncan’s bonfire reflecting in her eyes, when she saw the leather tube hanging from that shaggy dog’s mouth. “What are you doing with the treaties?” _More trouble that it’d be worth to sell them…_ The dog planted them at her feet. “Oh, thanks.” But when she looked up, the dog was gone, and the only thing there was a crow perched up on the griffon flagpole.

“Why do you have those?” Alistair asked suddenly.

“I—I uh, they were just here by the fire, unguarded. Don’t you think these shouldn’t just be left lying around? What is they burned or something?”

“Hm…you’ve got a point. Maybe we should hold onto them, in case. Not like we’re going to run into much trouble babysitting the signal fire anyway.” He took the strap and they made for the bridge.

Below, the forces of Ferelden were amassed. And across the valley in the shadow of the trees loomed the darkspawn. Lightning cracked overhead, momentarily drowning out the rhythmic beating of their drums. Even from up here their shrieks raised the hair on her arms. Massive beasts with horns as thick as a horse’s neck lumbered among them.

Chaos exploded down there when the armies clashed. And chaos greeted Karida and Alistair in the Tower of Ishal with fire. And screaming. Snarling. The ground was rent—darkspawn crawled from its depths—soldiers were dragged mangled into the darkness. The panic of the bloodbath muffled the panic of Karida’s shrieking mind so that she had to focus her trembling hands to loose countless arrows, and clamber over the burning wreckage to the stairs, shoving bodies out the way.

To lighten the mood, Alistair breathlessly quipped, “Turns out, we get to fight after all!” It didn’t go over so well with the few live bodies that followed then. A smile cracked the dry blood on Karida’s lips.

Up, up, up the many darkspawn, corpse-strewn, gore-spattered staircases to the top—where all of them skidded to a halt into each other when Alistair stopped short. “Maker’s breath!”

Hulking, horns scraping the ceiling, an ogre stood chewing a man’s torso. The rest of him was sprinkled in slivers like jellied beetroot. Shreds of red dangled between the ogre’s jagged tusks, and when it saw them gawking on the stairs, it gave such a bellow that the walls shook. Fat, foul, bloody droplets rained on Karida’s upraised arms, before the torso came hurtling towards them. An unwary soldier went screaming down the stairs hugging it. Alistair ducked under his shield to take the full forse of ogre-fist that sent him sliding into a wall.

Karida’s arrow found its cheek. Howling, it swung at her and she rolled away. She reached back into her quiver, fingers stretching frantically for an arrow not to be found. Eyes wide in disbelief, she swapped her bow for her buckler and held her sword uncertainly. She would have to get _close_?

Fire exploded from a mage’s staff against the ogre’s forehead and a soldier sliced the back of its leg, so it dropped to one knee. _A chance!_ An idea she didn’t ponder. Sprinting while the ogre held its face, Karida lunged sword-first for its belly. Shrieking, its huge fat clawing fingers clamped around her leg—her shield slipped as the ground dropped away. Both her hands managed to wrench her blade free before roaring hot spittle splattered her cheeks. Karida snapped her eyes open, her heart in her ears, and found she was hanging upside down above those yellow, gnashing teeth. She screamed, flailing to slash its nose while it lowered her. Panting, gasping, she twisted to grab a claw with one hand to pull herself up while slamming her sword down with the other. Its HOWL deafened her momentarily.

Then she was weightless—before the ground came rushing to meet her. Metal clattered to the floor as the air slammed out of her lungs. Faintly, fireballs erupted and Alistair yelled, and the ogre groaned. She groaned too, her ankle throbbing, and Karida tried to drag herself as the beast began to fall. Abruptly a body tackled her out the way, and both she and Alistair slid from under its crashing bulk.

They lay there a moment, eyes wide and chests heaving. Then a grin broke across his face. “Nice one, Karida! Thought you were ogre-dinner for a moment.” He thumped her on the shoulder as he drew her with him to their feet. The tips of her ears went hot under her helmet. Too out of breath to realize it came not from the panic of the ogre but the panic of his touch. “Nothing like a brush with death to make you…not like death much.”

She limped off to reclaim her sword and shield. “How did something that big even fit up those narrow stairs?” she muttered. Alistair led the way up more stairs to an open turret where he climbed the six-foot pile of wood to slash the ropes suspending the oil pan over it.

“I hope we’re not too late.” He flung his torch onto the beacon and hot air blasted Karida’s uplifted arms.

Forest and fortress blocked much of the battlefield below, but the hundreds of bonfires dotting the ground like flickering stars made the red of carnage visible. That’s where this beacon came in, for the reinforcements to see and turn the tide—gathered there now on the bridge, but, she squinted, they were…

“They’re going the wrong way!” Disbelief choked Alistair’s voice. “No, no, I’ve got to get down there!”

Karida glanced from the retreating soldiers to a retreating Alistair. “Wait!” she cried, limping after him. _Maybe the King called everyone back, maybe the Wardens were with the Teyrn’s men._ Snarling echoed in the round chamber and arrows whizzed overhead. There were so many of them, crawling from the doorway like ants, so _many_ darkspawn. Alistair dove out the way. Karida raised her shield. _So many_. She turned back for the stairs. Pain erupted in her forearm—an arrow was buried in her bracer. Another punched through the armor of her shoulder. _No!_ Her vision swam, _No, not yet!_ She scrabbled desperately for the bolt in her arm, her eyes rolling up into her skull and...

* * *

_'Shianni is safe?’_

_‘I promise.’ His breath was warm against her neck. She flinched. ‘I am a man of my word, after all.’_

_‘P-please…’ She turned her head, and clutched the brick of the wall behind her white-knuckled. Dull rumbling rolled in the distance of her mind as fingers fumbled hungry at her skin. ‘You’ve no right to do this!’ Rumbling gave way to growling._

_SLAP. ‘I have every right!’ SLAP. Her head hit the wall. ‘You’re nobody—merely an elf. I am a human, a lord, the heir of the Arl!’ SLAP. ‘Besides,’ his lips brushed her ear, ‘you_ owe _me, little knife-ears. Don’t make me get the other girl instead…’_

 _‘Stop—n-no!’ But they held her down, laughing as she sobbed. Laughter gave way to snarling and now she was running, clad only in her tattered wedding gown, deafened by the thunderous gnashing in her head, followed by the growling gnashing of darkspawn chasing her. Nothing, no sword, no bow—just_ run _. Keep running. But it was so difficult, so hard to stagger through the sludge. Lie down and sleep… Sleep… Weight slammed into her shoulder and she fell screaming into the mud. Darkspawn fell on her, screeching howling gnashing. She tried to shield her neck from the descending blade. She watched her head roll severed into the water—pain exploded in her skull—as jagged, gnashing teeth closed around her with a bloodcurdling shriek._


	5. My duty, my ass

A fire crackled calmly somewhere. Wool caressed her skin softly. Pain pulsed in her joints dully.

Cobwebbed bookshelves blinked before her eyes. Pain pulsed sharply. “Gah!” Karida hissed, gripping her shoulder as she fell back against the blanket. Bandages wound around her left shoulder and down to her forearm, leaving dark purple bruises stretching across her chest. It was no easy feat to pull on the unfamiliar shirt, but it was impossible to pull on armor. Her ear twitched at the sound of voices outside. Gingerly, her left side throbbing, her right hand clutching Flynt’s knife, she went to the door.

Humidity and the buzz of mosquitoes said Kokari Wilds, and a fire shining off the pond shadowed the figures sitting around it. One stood immediately, tripping on the log.

“You…you’re alive… I thought you were dead for sure.”

 _Alistair?_ “Alistair?”

“So your eyes finally open, do they?” creaked an old voice like a rusty gate. “Come, sit. Morrigan’s got a stew going—where is that girl?” _Morrigan?_ The rusty gate was a small old woman in stained robes, with wild shining eyes like the witch at the old tower.

“Alistair…? Where…what happened?”

“Sit, sit!” the rusty old woman scraped, swinging to a log. “You’ll want to sit. Morrigan!”

“Coming, Mother,” droned a voice like night. “How pleased you must be she lives.”

“Yes, we can’t have all the Grey Wardens dying at the same time, now can we?” cackled the gate as the beautiful black-feathered witch from the Wilds came before the fire. _Wait._

 _What?_ “All—all the Grey Wardens?”

Alistair’s downcast eyes answered Karida.

“The man who was to respond to your signal…quit the field,” the witch, Morrigan, explained. “Those he abandoned we massacred. The darkspawn won your battle.”

This…but this wasn’t supposed to happen. King Cailan, he’d been so sure in that golden armor! “Duncan’s dead. All the Wardens…even the King. They’re all….dead.” All sarcasm and blitheness were gone from Alistair’s soft tone. _We lit the beacon…then arrows_ … “This just...doesn’t seem real. If not for them, we’d both be dead on top of that tower.”

Duncan. _Dead?_ She was free now. _Right?_ No Warden Commander, no one to hunt her. _Alistair?_ Only a junior member—easy enough to evade, if he even knew all the rules of conscription Duncan ever did. The old witch, Flemeth was her name—a great revelation to Alistair, but to Karida it didn’t matter, only, “But why? Why did you save us?”

“Yes, why us? Why not Duncan? He is…,” water shone in Alistair’s hazel eyes, “…was our leader.”

“I am sorry for your Duncan, but you must grieve later. Duty must come now. It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

Staring back, Karida chewed her cheek _. I’m not a Grey Warden—never_ wanted _to be. Not my choice. A family needs me, a life taken._ My _duty is to my loved ones—not some dead order._

“Well—no, of course not!” He faltered, “But, we _were_ fighting darkspawn—the King nearly had them defeated! Why would Loghain do this?!” Alistair clutched at his hair.

“Now that’s a good question. Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any Tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he doesn’t see the evil behind it as the true threat.”

Alistair growled, “The Archdemon.”

Stew splashed into the bowl Morrigan held. “Then why not go after this Archdemon? Kill the source, and the Blight will be ended. Then this Loghain can be dealt with.”

“By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated the Blight without the armies of half a dozen nations at their back!” He held up his hands helplessly, “And not to mention…I don’t _know_ how!”

“How to kill an Archdemon, or how to raise an army? Have the Grey Wardens no allies these days?” Flemeth wondered.

Alistair shook his head. “I…I don’t know. Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. It’ll take months before they get here, if they ever got the message!”

Karida’s eyes flicked to Flemeth, to Morrigan, to Alistair, uncertain, unwilling. Duncan said the Archdemon was an Old God, reborn as a _dragon_. That horrible, gnashing, roaring thunderous song. Pain throbbed dully from her shoulder as Morrigan handed her a bowl. _Kill a_ dragon _?!_

“Alistair is the real Grey Warden here, not me,” she said, more to her stew than anyone else.

He turned to her, brow furrowed, “All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except us. We lost everyone.” There was such despair in his pleading eyes. _Like Soris_. Guilt pulled heavy on her heart. “For the love of the Maker, don’t back out on me now!”

Her fingertips tapped the sides of her bow. _Not everyone—not yet, at least_. She was determined to keep it that way. “Alistair, you said it yourself—Duncan’s dead—everyone’s dead. The Grey Wardens are no more. There’s nothing we can do.” Her eyes broke off from his gaze. “This…is a lost cause.”

His mouth hung open. “Of course,” Flemeth creaked, “Someone else will realize what needs to be done and act in sufficient time to solve the problem. No need for you.”

She scowled, “There is no one left! Alistair said he doesn’t even know how to kill this Archdemon _if_ we even found it! What use are two Grey Wardens who don’t know anything?!” Anger had a habit of loosening her tongue.

“If you think small numbers make you helpless, then you’re already defeated.”

“Karida…we’re the only Wardens left here.” Despairingly, he moaned, “It’s been centuries since the last Blight—no one will believe there’s another one until it’s too late. I can’t do this alone…”

 _Just like Soris, begging to shoot Mother’s bow_. He would have been sent to prison with her if she hadn’t thrown the arl’s sword down to pin the guilt on her alone. He needed her—like Father and Shianni did—the whole alienage did. She started the whole mess with the nobles. She needed to make sure no more harm came to her family.

 _No_.

But it was hard to find the words.

Instead, she stayed silent, her eyes on her stew.

When he realized that was his answer, Alistair set down his bowl and retreated. Guiltily she glanced back before attending her stew, pain pulsing sharply down her side. “How long was I out?”

“Three days, and if it wasn’t for my healing you’d be dead. Those arrows were poisoned—they made your fever impossible to break!” Flemeth’s scathing eyes glared. “So you shouldn’t waste my talents and time by not doing your duty as a Grey Warden!”

 _Too late. I’m already poisoned_. Pain twanged down the nerves of her arm like a bowstring snapping when she set her bowl on the log. “And I thank you for doing so, but I guess it’d have been better if you’d left me and gotten some other, more willing Warden instead.” _No use arguing, hag_.

Inside the hut she gathered her things. Outside Alistair was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged, pain following the motion, guilt heavy though ignored. Inside her tent she lay exhausted after three days’ recovery, shoulder searing, old wounds on her thighs aching. She shut her eyes. _Don’t think how they got there._

***

Morning found Karida packing in the grey light. There was no movement from the hut, nor from Alistair’s tent. _Should I? No_.

The overgrown path guided her feet away in lieu of a map. Lothering was to the north, then east on the Imperial Highway was Denerim.

A small figure moved in the shade of the trees. Yellow eyes peered from a dark, shaggy shape. _That dog from Ostagar, with the treaties_. Her muscles relaxed. “Shoo.”

“Leaving, are we?”

Heart leaping, Karida bit her lip. “Yes.” Morrigan was standing where the dog had been.

“And where are you going, if I might ask?”

“Home. To Denerim.”

“You will abandon your suspicious, dim-witted friend? Leave him on his own against the Blight?”

“He’s not my friend. And he knows more about Grey Warden-ing. I didn’t want this—Duncan conscripted me.” She looked away, “I’m grateful for his help, but now he’s dead. I don’t owe him anymore.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve more important things than the end of the world to attend to.”

“Ech,” Karida spat, spinning round. “I didn’t—I mean—“

“You and Alistair are the last two Wardens in Ferelden, the last two capable to end the Blight. Only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon. Did they not tell you this? If he dies, then it is up to you.” Karida’s throat tightened, and Morrigan blurred through her angry tears. “Your precious Denerim will be swallowed by the Blight—those you hold dear will perish under the darkspawn if you do not stop their spread. But go—go,” she waved dismissively. “‘Tis a lost cause you said, there’s nothing _you_ can do. Why try? Go back to your home and die there with the rest of them. _I_ will go with Alistair,” yellow eyes bored into Karida’s, “and help him try to end this Blight, though I am no Warden and swore no duty to do so.”

Karida stood helpless as the witch turned, and she threw her head back, “What?! What am I supposed to do? We were defeated when we _had_ an army—and the Archdemon wasn’t even there!” She couldn’t check her frustration. _Look where it got me before._

“You’re forgetting something. Something you came here for not long ago.”

Her eyes narrowed, then widened quick. “You mean the Grey Warden treaties?” Their griffon heraldry and foreign seals she’d seen in Ostagar—“It was you, the dog!”

“Yes, how clever of you to realize. But as I recall, this cause is lost and you are fleeing.”

That hulking ogre with darkspawn like ants on its heels, breaking down the gates, flooding the Alienage with blood and fire and gaping holes in the earth. Shianni, Soris, Father—they would die—the whole city would—if the Blight reached it. If the Grey Wardens didn’t end it. And Karida was one of the only two left to do that. Water splashed onto her boot. Roughly she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Just as hot and angry as when Duncan caught her outside Denerim. _Not_ fair _! Helpless, helpless, useless!_

But…Morrigan was right. Her, Flemeth, and Alistair. She couldn’t abandon him. Not now, not with the stakes so high. Her family would have to wait. Else there might not be a world left…

“Wait!” She sprinted to the woman. “Hang on! I—I realize I’m being a, a stubborn ass…” Morrigan’s yellow eyes calculated. “I’ll go with Alistair. I…I’ll…try to do whatever it is a Grey Warden’s supposed to do, to end the Blight.”

“Tell Alistair, not me. I have already been cast out by Mother to follow you Wardens and these treaties. If truly you are determined, then we must leave soon; we’ve an army of darkspawn to evade.”

Nodding, Karida sprinted for the hut, before glancing behind to discover the witch hadn’t followed. The sky was grey and sunless. Nothing stirred. She found Alistair on a nearby stump, his eyes on her backpack.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He snorted, “Figured as much.”

She gnawed her lip, her left hand wringing her right. “Well...I’ve decided not to.” _Do I sound sincere?_ He didn’t turn to her. “I thought on what you said…I know I was being stupid, selfish.” She sighed as she leaned against the hut and slid to the dirt. “It’s just…I was,” the pond rippled gently from a breeze as the image of Shianni lying there on the ground surfaced in her thoughts, “…in a bad way when Duncan came to me. I…lost a few friends, and all that’s been keeping me going is the thought of seeing my family again.” Words came tumbling out with little consideration. _Not truly heartless, see?_ _At least, understand…_ “It’s just…it’s hard for me to face the fact that by going with you, trying to end this Blight…there’s little chance I’ll be able to.”

Silence. Then, quietly, he said, “Duncan…was like a father to me…one of the few people I cared about.” Alistair turned. Water shone in his eyes. “I don’t want his death to be in vain. So you’ll help? You’ll come with me, to wherever these treaties make us go?” She nodded, only a little hesitant. He huffed, then laughed. “I haven’t been able to sleep knowing you were going to leave. I just…the idea of heading out on my own scares me. I can’t end the Blight by myself. I’m…glad you changed your mind.”

“I’m sorry for being an obstinate ass.” When she went to stand, he lent a hand.

“About time you grew wits. I was beginning to question why I _did_ save you from that tower,” creaked the gate from the hut. _But, now,_ how _had she rescued them?_ Alistair wondered too.

“She transformed into a giant crow and plucked the two of you from atop the tower.”

“Bah, we’ve no time for stories, Morrigan. These Wardens must be going. And you with them.”

“I’m sorry, wait, wait,” Alistair interrupted, “she’s not coming with us, is she?”

All eyes were on Karida. _Why would I care?_ She shrugged, “She said it was her plan. I don’t mind—“

“Her magic will be useful, young man,” snapped Flemeth. “Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

“I just…do you really want to take her along because her _mother_ said so?”

Her hands went up. “You just said that the Blight’ll be impossible to end on your own—it won’t be much easier with just us two. Why would a third with magic be worse?”

“If you fear I will transform into an abomination, or summon demons to swoop down upon you, I assure you, I will at least wait until you aren’t looking.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Yes, _swooping_ is bad…” Grudgingly, he agreed with Karida, sighing, “Grey Wardens shouldn’t turn away help in times of a Blight…”

“I’m so pleased to have your approval.” With hands on her hips, Morrigan spat, “May we be off, Wardens?”

After all that talking, it was dead silent on their departure through the marshy forest. Karida braved to break it, wondering how they would avoid the horde.

“I think the real question is how we are going to get your friend past the darkspawn, is it not?”

“That is true… We can sense the darkspawn.” Alistair bit his lip. “Conversely, they can sense us.”

 _Oh, useful. Any more surprises?_ Pushing a mossy branch away, Karida asked, “So why haven’t I sensed any yet?”

“You won’t right away—it takes time. We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones, or particularly intelligent darkspawn—will always detect us.”

“Reassuring, no?” A smirk played on her lips. Morrigan enjoyed his discomfort. But what other choice had they? A guide, needed, mistrusted—well, Karida felt indifferent, but Alistair was quiet. Quieter than she’d ever heard him. Trees kept them hidden on what dry ground they found that night and the next, waking hourly to set wary watches for ambush. Trees grew thin and soon covered them no more and they were exposed on the open plain. And howling soon followed.

Karida’s heart pounded, her shoulder searing as she wriggled her sword from its sheath—but the bulky beast that tore from the woods was no darkspawn.

“It’s a mabari!” exclaimed Alistair. “Aw, who’s a good boy—?” He held his hands outstretched but it panted right past him to Karida.

She stepped back, “H-hello there…” and held a cautious hand out. Its eyes were wide, crazed—yet familiar were the markings on its skin, gentle the wet nose that nudged her fingers. “This is the hound we helped in Ostagar!” Growling—not at her—it spun, hackles raised, barking.

Morrigan growled too. “The beast’s led darkspawn right to us!” Her hands glowed with purple light that reflected in Karida’s wide eyes. “Stand aside. I shall deal with them.” Light flashed blinding when her staff slammed the ground. Darskapwn screeched, scrabbling at their faces, and halted dead in their tracks. “Quickly!”

 _Maker, real magic!_ It was easy then to pick them off like flies. Alistair shouted, shield pointing. She turned in time to see a genlock lunging—as a wide shape galloped past, tearing its arm off, and making scarlet ribbons of its face.

Alistair bent to rest his hands on his knees when it was over. “Di-did you see that? The mabari came to your aid! He must’ve imprinted on you.”

Sweat tickled her nose. “So it thinks I’m its master?” It sat before her, calm, all rage gone from its eyes, and it licked the fingers she held out. Gasping, she pulled back—but its nub of a tail began to wag. A grin broke across her face. “I’ve never had a dog before…”

“So you’re going to keep it?” When Alistair extended a hand, the dog barred its teeth.

Morrigan snorted, “Great. We now have a dog, and Alistair is still the dumbest of our company.”

“Hey!”

***

Lothering. No longer empty, no longer quiet. The dog was still at her side. _Aren’t dogs supposed to have names?_ Now Lothering was busy. Tents clustered between houses and hills with clotheslines like spiderwebs overhead. “Where did they all come from?” Gloomy, faces watched them, and apprehension choked the air thickly.

“Fleeing north from the darkspawn, no doubt.” Cunning yellow eyes watched Karida. “You did not think they would remain in Ostagar, I hope. They will spread across this land like wildfire.”

Karida avoided the look. “Well…let’s stay the night at least.” Her back ached for a bed. Alistair offered no direction. He’d grown quiet since the dog. “And I guess get supplies, too.”

“If there’s any to be had. We must also take a look at these treaties to find where we must go.”

A small bridge cut Lothering in two, and there the three stopped. “Alistair, you’ve read them; what do they say? Where should we head?”

He watched the water in the river, “Duncan…said these treaties allow the Grey Wardens to demand aid from the Circle of Magi, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Dalish tribes in times of a Blight. They can also help us negotiate with Ferelden nobility. That’s why I think we should head for Redcliffe first—to see the King’s uncle, Arl Eamon.” ‘Arl’ left a bad taste in Karida’s mouth. “I know him. He should be able to give us support, as well as figure out what happened back in Ostagar.”

“Ah, so you’ve finally decided to rejoin us, have you?”Morrigan liked to get a rise from him. “Falling on your blade seemed too much trouble, I take it?”

Alistair wheeled on her. “Is my being upset so hard to understand?” Karida stroked the dog’s head while they went at each other’s throats—figuratively. “Have you never lost someone important to you? What would you do if your mother died?”

Morrigan could barely contain her chuckle, “Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“ _Right_ ,” Alistair’s eyes rolled, “very creepy, forget I asked.”

“Why would this Eamon help us?”

“I…he’s a friend.” Sheepishly, he looked to Karida. “He trusted Duncan and trusts the Wardens. He’s also connected in Denerim; he can get us information on Loghain and learn more about the battle. And, to be honest, I don’t know _how_ to get to these other places the treaties mention and ask for help—Arl Eamon may be able to point us in the right direction.”

“The right direction now would be to purchase a map,” snapped Morrigan.

Before interjection, Karida added, “As good enough a plan for now. And yes, we do need a map.”

Alistair pushed past Morrigan. “I’ll go get one.”

Morrigan glared after Alistair. “Fine. I shall gather food supplies.”

Karida stood and dog sat as Warden and witch walked away in opposite directions. “Ok…uh, I’ll see about the inn, I guess, see if there’s any room available…”


	6. Crazy They Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothering's innkeeper has been standing here wiping mugs since Chapter 1.

Dog followed her across the bridge. People were crammed everywhere here, too, miserable, cold, and hungry. Like the shanty town by the gates of the Alienage that she passed everyday with Shianni and Soris.

A man leaning outside the inn said no animals were allowed inside.

“You hear that, dog? I guess you’ll just have to wait out here.” She rubbed his ear as he sat. “And...please, don’t attack anybody.” His eager bark made her jump. “Yes, good dog…”

Saying the place was crowed would be an understatement. There were too many people in one space, elbow to elbow, all against the wall, too many voices, too much noise. Karida slipped her way to the innkeeper, still wiping mugs behind the bar. “Evening. We’re all full up here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, but do have any hot food?” Her stomach growled loud as a voice when she leaned forward.

“Got a little chicken and beans left.” He stared, wondering, “You been through before? Could’ve sworn I’d seen a knife-ears dressed up like you not long ago. Yeah, with those Grey Wardens, right?”

A chair scraped against the floor. “Did you say Grey Warden?” And that feeling of being caught sunk in Karida’s stomach when she looked over her shoulder to see a soldier rising from the table. “Well, look what we have here. You’re just the knife-ears we’ve been looking for.”

Heart frozen, a hand on her sword, and her mouth watering from the smell of chicken, Karida turned.

“Gentlemen,” piped a woman’s voice. Orlesian. Red hair like Shianni’s, in the garb of a Chantry Sister. “Surely there is no need for trouble. This is no doubt another poor soul seeking refuge.”

“She’s more than that,” growled the man. “Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect this traitor, you’ll get the same as her.”

 _Traitor?_ Karida stepped back. _Not from Denerim at the Arl’s command, about the murders?_

“Teyrn Loghain has branded all Grey Wardens traitors for murdering the King.” _Wrong murder_. His sword pointed accusingly at her. “Take the Warden into custody and kill the Sister—or anyone else who gets in the way.” Her sword and knife drawn fast, the Sister side-stepped out the way. The first soldier went for Karida. “If you come quietly, there’ll be no need to fight.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere.” _Not back to prison, not ever_. He swung with a shout. The innkeeper shouted, people screamed out the door where barking burst inside.

“Oh shi—!” Dog’s teeth clamped with a RIP on the soldier’s raised arm. “Call if off!” Shrieking, stumbling, he tried to shake Dog loose, his sword swinging wildly. “You win, just call this damned beast off!”

“Stand down, Dog!” She hesitated on what to call it. At once the mabari released and backed off, snarling still.

“Good. They’ve learned their lesson.” Sister smiled, her weapons sheathed.

Karida stood with sword still drawn, shaking her head. “No, they’re lying. The Grey Wardens didn’t betray the King.” Dog growled beside her. “Loghain did when he retreated!”

“I was there! The Teyrn pulled us out of the trap.”

“I was there too! The Teyrn left the army to die!” _How can you be so stupidly blind?!_

“The Wardens led the King to his death—Teyrn Loghain could do nothing!” Another soldier held up a parchment emblazoned with the same grey griffon on her breastplate. There was a crude sketch of Alistair’s face and only a short description of her:

‘Wanted _: Grey Wardens. Dead or Alive (preferably alive). For high treason, and the murder of our good King Cailan. 100 sovereigns apiece. Signed, King-Regent Loghain Mac Tir_.’ 

“Rubbish…” Her glare rose to the soldiers. “Start running—right now,” she pointed with her sword to the door, “tell him the Grey Wardens know who the real traitor is. Tell him he’ll have to try better than this.” And she ripped the paper to bits, hurling it at their scampering feet.

“I apologize for interfering, but I could not just stand by.”

“Thanks for the help.” Karida patted Dog’s head as refugees stared. How many saw her as a stack of ten gold coins? “But I really need to get going…” Her stomach growled. _Hells, bugger my food…_

“Wait!” The Sister followed, “Wait, let me come with you.”

“Come with me? Don’t you have some Chantry to tend or something?”

“Not anymore. Please, at least let me speak with you.”

“Alright, what?” But eyes out here stared, too, so Karida went to the bridge. Another poster was on the railing; she was a walking sack of gold. “I’m not sure why a priest would want to come with us.” Paper ripped through the nail as Karida tore it down. _Where is Alistair?_

“But I am no priest, I’m not even an initiate.”

“Hey—I thought you said you’d be at the inn!” Karida stiffened—but it was just the man himself trotting to catch up. “And who’s the priest?”

She introduced herself as Leliana, “a lay Sister of the Chantry here in Lothering—or, I was…”

Alistair nodded, clearly confused, “Ah, and what’s she doing with you?”

“I am coming with you.”

“What? Wait, no, no you’re not.” Karida pointed a jabbing finger, “Where we’re going’s probably too dangerous,” _for me,_ “for some lay-Sister or whatever you call yourself—“

“I know how to fight; I will be useful,” Leliana pushed Karida’s finger down. “Those men said you are a Grey Warden.”

Alistair nodded again, brow still knotted, “Yes, but ‘those men’? What men?”

“Loghain’s soldiers. They’re looking for Grey Wardens—he’s saying we killed the King even though we weren’t even down there!” She passed him the poster.

He gasped, “That—! Ugh! I’ll kill him! Aw, and they made my nose too big…”

“I would think it accurate.”

“Gah!” He jumped to reveal Morrigan behind him. “Where’d you come from?!”

“The merchant; he was selling at abhorrent prices, but I managed to persuade him down.” Her eyebrow arched, “I’ve something to tell the both of you, but I fear this may be a larger problem…? Blaming the King’s death on the Wardens? Why, I never saw this coming.”

“ _Really_? Well we should’ve consulted you first,” snorted Alistair as he stuffed the paper away.

Eyes shifting about, Karida said, “I think we should skip town now—spend the night on the road. I’ve got a bad feeling these refugees think we’re walking gold-stuffed purses…”

“’Tis a wise choice, though they’d be fools to try attacking.” Leliana cleared her throat loudly. “And who is this?” Purple eyelids lowered at the white Chantry robes. “Why is a _priest_ with you?”

“This is Leliana, and she is… _not_ a priest.” Helplessly Karida looked to her.

“You will be battling darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do. I know that after what happened, you’ll need my help.” _Hang on, I was doing fine!_ “So that’s why I’m coming along.”

 _Heaven help us_. “Why are you so eager to come?” But the skies didn’t look helpful today.

“The Maker told me to,” and dead serious was Leliana’s tone.

Yellow eyes rolled and Karida stammered, “Uuh, can you…elaborate?”

“I…know that sounds absolutely insane, but it’s true! I had a dream—a vision!”

“More crazy? I thought we were all full up,” Alistair mumbled.

“You said yourself you had crazy dreams after your Joining,” Karida pointed out.

“That’s different,” he made a face, “that’s Grey Warden dreams.”

“Look at the people here!” Frustrated, Leliana flung her hands. “They are lost in their despair. And this darkness, this chaos—will spread!” Her voice shook, “The Maker doesn’t want this. What you do—what you are _meant_ to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help.”

“You want to help these people? Then help them here,” scoffed the witch.

“No. I must help by going with you.”

Karida glanced to Alistair, and Alistair glanced to the sky. Still unhelpful. It seemed there was convincing the Sister otherwise. “You…did say we shouldn’t turn away aid where it’s offered.” Grimacing, he nodded. “But I’m afraid we’ll need more than prayers.”So _maybe I wasn’t fine in the tavern_ …

“Perhaps your head was cracked worse than Mother thought…”

“Thank you!” Leliana took Karida’s hand. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!”

***

With Leliana off running to get her things, Morrigan led the Wardens away across to the other side of town and out the gate. “Now we might be rid of her…” she murmured, settling her feathers. She took them to a hill beside which gallows stood. And beside the gallows stood a tall cage. And inside that cage stood the largest man Karida had ever seen.

“You again?” came a deep, quiet, solemn voice. Violet eyes looked from Morrigan to the Wardens. Karida couldn’t help but stare. He was massive, his russet toned forearms nearly as wide as her head. White hair was braided tightly in rows along his scalp, and he had pointed ears like hers, but bigger. “I will amuse you no more than I have other spectators. Leave me in peace.” Pain and hunger hid in that quiet deep voice.

“What are you?”Alistair blurted. At least she wasn’t alone in wondering…

“A prisoner,” came the snapping reply, “I am in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.” He seemed to rise even taller when he declared, “I am Sten of the Berasaad, the vanguard of the Qunari people.”

“Qunari?”

Dark violet eyes turned on Karida. “It is your shortcoming if you have not heard of us, elf. Though it matters little now…I will die soon enough.” Pride softened, and pain crept back in his voice.

“But…why are you here?”

“I have been convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?” _I’d not much time to chat…_

“This is a proud and powerful creature—trapped here as _prey_ for the darkspawn,” spat the witch. “If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone!”

“ _Mercy_?” scoffed the other Warden. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage.”

“Yes,” he grinned, “now that’s what I’d’ve expected.”

“I suggest you leave me to my fate,” the Qunari, Sten, drew their attention back on him.

 _A murderer, too?_ Karida looked down. Through more questions they learned it was twenty days he’d been stuck here without food. Twenty days!

“There you all are!” Leliana jogged up to them. Gone were her Chantry robes, replaced by red leather armor accented with silver chainmail. _Fancy_. She bore a longbow and quiver, brimming with green-feathered arrows, and twin steel swords at her hips. Not always a Chantry Sister, then.

“And I had hoped we’d lost her…” Morrigan sighed.

Leliana looked with pity on the Qunari. “The Revered Mother had him put here; she said he slaughtered an entire family, even the children. But…to be left here to starve—or be taken by the darkspawn…no one deserves that, not even a murderer…”

Alistair agreed it was cruel, murderer or no. “Morrigan’s right, for once.”

Karida reminded him, “Well, we shouldn’t turn away help in times of a Blight, right?

“The Blight? Are you…Grey Wardens, then?” Sten seemed to see Karida for the first time. “Surprising. I’ve heard tales of their strength and skill—though I suppose not every legend it true.”

Suppressing her bristling pride, Karida said, “So, if I got you out, you would be in our custody.” _Like when Duncan conscripted me, right?_ A glance to Alistair confirmed it.

Purple eyes considered her a long while. How small and weak she must seem to him, a giant and still strong after all this time of imprisonment. “Set me free and I will follow you against the Blight.”

“Very well.” Her old lockpicks felt cool in her hands; she hoped no one would protest as she worked the tumblers of the cage’s lock. CLICK. He pushed the door open slowly. Relief shone on his face before that ever-present frown reclaimed its place.

“And so it is done.” His steady eyes held hers. “I shall follow you into battle—and in doing so, I shall find my atonement.” Pleased as if she’d done it herself, Morrigan asked how the free air felt. But Sten remained stony-faced, and said he wished to move on.

***

A mysterious witch, a crazy ex-Sister, and a silent murderer. _And me, a thieving-murderer._ Alistair was the only straight-man of their company—well, him and Dog.

The Imperial Highway seemed to only lengthen in the growing dusk. Then, ahead there was shouting. Dog began barking. Alistair bristled, “Darkspawn!”

A mule brayed, trapped to an upturned wagon assailed by the creatures, with two stocky men cowering behind the wheels. Green-feathered arrows found one hurlock while Dog leapt at another’s throat. Darkspawn froze like ice before Karida, cowering behind her shield from the cold blast.

“Cut them down!”

No blood streaked her blade when their leathery bodies splintered like glass. Dog crunched on the pieces. And Alistair sensed no more nearby. _Why can’t I sense anything?_

A bearded face tentatively picked its way through the carnage. “Thank you, thank you all for saving us!” He motioned for the other, non-bearded face. “Tell them thank you, Sandal.”

“Hello!”

The beard shook his head, excusing the younger and thanking them loudly again. And with suspicion he asked if they were all Grey Wardens.

 _Gold in his eyes too?_ “What of it?” Karida’s own narrowed.

“Doesn’t matter to me what happened to the King. Never figured the Wardens for traitors, that’s all. Anyway, we’d best be going now, if that’s alright.” But Alistair asked what they were doing out here, where Orzammar was, and Bodham (the beard) grew increasingly fidgety. _Hiding something._

Morrigan advised it was high-time to leave but Leliana advised protecting the dwarves. _Would it be an argument for every encounter?_ At least Alistair was off the hook. He sided with Leliana, brow furrowing in concentration that made it look as thinking were a heavy task for him to undertake. They couldn’t leave the dwarves defenseless. “We’re on our way to Redcliffe. Maybe you could come along.”

Bodham thought it was an excellent idea. Karida thought it an opportunity. Alistair and Morrigan had spent all their coin on supplies. After all, as a trader, he was bound to have something in exchange for safe passage. She proposed the idea carefully—with a look of surprise from Leliana and a smile from Morrigan—and it was settled. They could take anything they liked from Bodham’s (humble) stock, and maybe a bonus upon arrival.

“That was some pretty shrewd bargaining.” Not disapproval, but appreciation was in Alistair’s voice when they were on their way again. “And that deal with Sten’s cage earlier—I didn’t know you could pick locks.”

Chewing her cheek, Karida’s eyes were on the dirt, “I’ve had a…bit of experience.” Old Flynt had taught how her to win a merchant’s game, and lock picking was second nature by now—but no one need know that…

“I can’t remember if I’ve picked a lock quite so fast,” Leliana pondered. “Though, that was a simple one…” _Ah_ , Karida had pinned her right. Alistair gawked. “Not all of us were born into the Chantry. Many of us led more...colorful lives before.” She smiled to Karida, a kindred spirit. “The same could be said for you, yes? An elf in your position must have a story.”

But anxiety froze her tongue; silence was the reply.

Once camp was made, Karida rummaged through Bodham’s wares—a greatsword for Sten and a heavy curiass big enough to fit him. Nothing else of use—not even any arrows. At least there were materials for grenades. Frostrocks and fire crystals weren’t common components under Flynt’s instruction. Only oils, smoke, noise-makers, components to hinder or distract. She became distracted herself by something in the scrap box.

“That’s a funny object I picked up a while back…” Bodham told her it was a control rod or something for a golem (some kind of dwarven construct they had in Orzammar), practically worthless without the golem it controlled. Valuable even if he couldn’t see it; Flynt could find a buyer… But with no Denerim for a while, maybe some other trader would buy it for its single red garnet alone.

Karida sat mixing the elemental components with explosive agents, sealing them in tiny sacks that later she attached to her belt. Leliana turned the spit, rotating hares she’d hunted over the fire, telling of an Orlesian legend to no one in particular. Why so enthusiastic and intriguing a bard-turned-Chantry-Sister wanted to follow hopelessly uncertain Grey Wardens during such a crisis? Karida dared to ask as much.

Leliana told of her vision, another tale. “I dreamt of an impenetrable darkness, so dense and _real_. And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise…” Karida shuddered; a noise like in her dream at the Joining, a reverberating, bloodcurdling song-like cooing. That spreading, consuming darkness Leliana likened to the Blight. And when she woke, in the Chantry’s courtyard she saw how the ugly grey rosebush, dead for so long, had flowered—a single, beautiful rose. “It was as if the Maker had stretched out His hand. ‘Even in the midst of such darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith’.”

An extraordinary tale, if true, but Alistair pointed out that Karida’s question still stood.

“In my dream, I fell, or…or maybe I jumped. I’d do anything to stop the Blight. I know that we can do it,” emphasis on ‘we’. “There are so many good things in the Maker’s world. How can I sit by idly while the Blight devours…everything? That is why you are a Grey Warden, no?”

Karida shifted where she sat, “Well,” _no, not if I had a choice_. She bit her lip, remembering Morrigan’s words, still desperately yearning for home, to be there for Shianni, yet…the binding ritual, an oath taken. _Out here as a Warden still counts as looking out for family…if they’re still alive_. “Yes, in a way…”


	7. They Popped Outta the Ground Like Daisies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog's name is Daisy and I had to shoehorn her name in somewhere

Karida spent the next evening learning to hunt with Leliana, and Alistair turned their quarry into an…appetizing stew. She sat sharpening her nicked knife, and caught his furtive glance out the corner of her eye.

“…I was just thinking…You’re the only one here who knew Duncan. I…I want to apologize for how I’ve handled things,” he mumbled. “I should’ve…nngh, he warned me right from the beginning that this could happen—that any of us could die. I shouldn’t have given in to grief.” Half-heartedly he stirred the broth. “Not with so much riding on us, not with the Blight and…everything. I’m sorry.” His downcast eyes rose to hers, searching. Karida gave half a smile in return, warmth creeping up her neck, and she shifted the blade on her knees. “I shouldn’t have lost it, not with you so new to the Wardens. Duncan had hardly enough time to tell you anything.”

Hesitant, her hand lifted in comfort, she quickly retracted, biting her lip. “Don’t apologize, Alistair. You don’t have to be ashamed to grieve. I…understand he meant a lot to you—nothing could’ve prepared you…” The words felt awkward on her tongue, tumbling out haltingly. _Do I sound comforting?_ She knew what he must be feeling, even if he was human.

“Thanks…” Then with a wry smile, he said, “It’s stupid, I know, but I feel guilty for not being there with him, in the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.” _But if you had…_ “I’d be dead too, I know. Like I said, it’s stupid.” He sighed. “I’d like to have a funeral for him, when this is all over—if we’re still alive. I don’t think he had any family to speak of.”

“Well, he did have all the Grey Wardens. And you.” _Am I even helping?_

Alistair laughed quietly, lifting the spoon to taste. “I suppose…I think he said he came from Highever. Maybe I’ll go there one day, see about putting something up in his honor…I dunno.” _Highever._ Karida gripped her knee tight, speckled gold glinting on her finger. _Nelaros…He’s from there—was._ Her fingers clenched tighter. “I remember…you’d mentioned before how you recently lost someone close.” Sharply she looked up. “N-not that I mean to pry, I just…does the pain always linger? Or—or the remorse?”

Chewing her cheek, Karida stared at the fire. … _Nelaros grinned as she spun clumsily in his arms._ “I…with time, the pain dulls,” _like it did with Mother_ , “but the guilt _…”_ still a black pit in her gut, “it’s tough in the days right after…”

Alistair stared at the fire too. “I guess you’re right… It feels better to talk with someone, at least.”

***

_No one told her how nervous she would feel, standing beside this stranger soon to be her husband. And no one told her how that nervousness would melt away as the festivities flashed by, as she and this new groom of hers danced long into the evening. Neither was very good, yet Nelaros spun her laughing all the same, Mother’s dress twirling white around her ankles, flowers blue bouncing in her hair. Yet, the darkness—it swallowed the children playing, all the elves dancing, and even the enormous vhenadhal with its lofty lantern-lit boughs—until all that stood between it and her was Nelaros._

_‘I won’t let them take you!’_

_Laughter all around, gnashing, piercing. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll return what’s left for the ‘honeymoon’.’_

_Hair and flowers tangled her vision. She didn’t want to see. ‘Get off me!’ Hands clutching, hitting, groping. ‘D-don’t touch me—get away!’_

_It was darkspawn—rancid breath, jagged teeth sinking in her neck. Screaming. Sobbing. Shrieking._

_‘Karida.”_

_“’Get off!”_

“Karida!”

“Get off…get off…”

“H-hey, it’s just me,” _Soris?_ “—wake up!”

She knew the face floating above her in the starry night sky, but the sight of him terrified her. “Karida, you were kicking and mumbling. Are you OK?”

Her jaw quivered—it was only Alistair. No monsters, no cells, no swallowing darkness. She nodded, wetting her lips. Dog’s big head lay like a comforting warm weight in her lap.

“Nightmares?” She nodded again, not trusting her speech. Sweat soaked her hair. Alistair’s frown twisted into an unhappy smile. “They don’t tell you about important things like this _before_ you recruit. ‘Hey, here’s the honor of being a Grey Warden and saving people from darkspawn—oh, and I almost forgot, you’ll get some really awful, vivid nightmares, thanks!’” He snorted. “Sod it, sign me right up...”

 _I-it felt so_ real. _Like I was back there. Like it was happening again_. She cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lump there, and Alistair told her it was still a few hours till the next watch. Dog’s short, coarse hair scratched against her fingertips until she finally slept again.

***

Silently Karida stared at the map, food tasteless in her mouth the next morning. Red cliffs loomed in the west and the fingers of Lake Calenhad glittered silver to the north.

She walked at a distance from their party, Dog close beside, but Morrigan took her by surprise all the same. “Do all Grey Wardens experience night terrors of such intensity?”

“Particularly new ones,” Alistair cut in hotly. Yellow eyes glared at him.

“I was speaking to her, not you.” Then to Karida, Morrigan said, “It sounded like quite a dreadful dream. I heard you mutter many times—was it a fearsome darkspawn you fought, perhaps?”

Warily Karida watched the witch, but there was no hint of amusement in her face. Merely curiosity. “No, not just darkspawn…” And she hurried on ahead. But in the quick glance over her shoulder, Karida spied the flash of… _knowing_ in Morrigan’s eyes that she did not like.

The road to Recliffe seemed ever longer and steeper, empty of anyone save farmers. Bodham and his son parted ways with them at the fork in the road on the fourth day. _Probably trying to get out of paying any bonus_. But Karida decided to say nothing of it, and went to hunt with Leliana’s arrows that night.

Dog followed her through the thick green grass alongside a babbling stream. They found no hares. At least she would wash her face. She’d not had a proper bath since that last brook near Denerim. Water shook in her cupped hands.

“You have those dreams quite often, don’t you, Warden?”

Water splashed to the ground. She jolted up, her heart hammering—it was only Morrigan. The stream must have drowned her approach even for Dog’s ears. He trotted up to the witch, who only raised her hands in disgust from his expectant snout. “Why do you care?” Karida asked.

She seemed taken aback. “Do you think me incapable of showing concern for others?”

“I just…you don’t strike me as the compassionate type.” _More like the manipulative type._

“I was merely trying to be convivial, unlike you.” Morrigan waved her hand. “Forget I asked.”

Karida rose, “Wait, don’t go.” She bit her lip, thinking, “You’re right…I do get them a lot.” _What’s the harm in telling her? She seems to already know._

“Even before you became a Warden, their voices followed you in your sleep.”

 _But…_ Karida swallowed the lump in her throat that made it hard to breathe. “…how do you know?”

“Darkspawn aren’t the only things haunting your thoughts.” Morrigan’s eyes moved to the side as she said what Karida hoped she wouldn’t, “I suspect I know why. I remember tending you, after the battle at Ostagar.” Sympathy seemed foreign to her voice. “There were old bruises in places no swordfight would leave.”

Karida’s bow dropped softly to the grass as she sat down deliberately. “Don’t…say any more.” She shut her eyes to try and halt the onslaught of muttering, groping, shaking memories. If only she could vanish right there— _no one was supposed to find out, no one was to know!_

“I…just would like to offer my help. I can make a potion that would suppress your dreams—”

“Go away.” Karida clutched Dog’s neck. She had to grip something solid.

“…as you wish.” And, after a moment of waiting, the witch left Karida alone to fight against her tears.

***

Five days in to these barren hills of red and still no Redclffe. They broke for a lunch of…scrumptious days’-old stew.

With that musical voice of hers, Leliana was asking after Sten’s health since he’d been in that cage for so long. _He didn’t cry like a brat or tell her to go away_ … He was surprised at her concern all the same, and affirmed he was well. Qunari were a sturdy people. But Qunari were not a common sight. Curiosity forced Karida to ask what brought him to Ferelden, and it kept her mind off of everything else happening.

Ill-fitting bronze armor clinked as Sten turned. “To answer a question.”

He liked talking as much as she did. “And what was that?” _Funny, how even with his severe glare he doesn’t make me feel discomfort like…other men do…_

“The Arishok asked ‘what is the Blight?’ By his curiosity, I am now here.” But Karida’s curiosity only grew. “If you wish a tale, ask the bard.” _Touchy._

“What if I just want information? To understand Qunari better?”

Sten frowned, and hmm’d. “Very well…” The arishok was basically their leader, the one who commanded the antaam (which he had to explain as the body, the army of the Qunari people). They were their eyes, hands, and mouth in relation to the rest of the world. Why would they care about the Blight where they were so far across the sea? “Why do you?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “because I have to now. It’s my job.”

“Exactly. You do not ask questions. Neither do I. The arishok sends me and I go.”

 _Actually I ask a lot of questions, like_ , “Does that mean you’ve got to go home to report soon?”

Sten growled, a sound much scarier coming from him than Dog. “I cannot go home.”

“Oh.” _Whoops._ “Well, you can stick with us as long as you need. The Wardens need as much help as we can find.”

***

“This Arl Eamon best give us the aid we require,” Morrigan’s tone was as sharp as the grade of the path. “Else I shall turn _him_ into a toad for having walked all this way for naught…” Irritable since Lothering, complaining of this being a waste of time, she gave Alistair no end of eye-rolls—and Karida no end of a sense of unease.

The sun was beginning to set when finally the pass widened to where a windmill was visible among the fields stretching yellow across the red plateau into the purple evening sky. A goat munched on the pink flowers swaying beside the inn, where Karida entered with legs aching for a soft bed. Yet, there wasn’t a sound beyond the river gushing off the cliff, and no fire lit the dusk-darkened tavern.

“Hell-llo-o?” Leliana called, hands beside her mouth. “A village this big and nobody’s here?”

“Perhaps they are all devout and attending Chantry services as we speak?” Morrigan suggested derisively.

“I do not appreciate…” Leliana was saying, but Karida had moved on upstairs. There was a sound from the room at the end of the hall…almost like that goat chewing outside. _Someone’s a noisy eater…_

“Hello?” Karida raised her fist to the door which stood slightly ajar. “My companions and I are looking for a room for the night.” There was no response, so she nudged the door open. “Do you know where the inn…keep...is…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes trailed the hair on the ground to a woman’s empty scarlet eye-sockets. Her severed head was still leaking across the floorboard. And over her body hunched an emaciated, skeletal figure.

Karida’s hand fell from the doorknob.

The figure turned, a brown organ bursting red between its yellow teeth.

Before she could even scream, Dog leapt snarling at the thing. “No, _Dog_!” But he wouldn’t listen!

Karida spun to call for Alistair just when the next door down the hall thrust open and another figure staggered out. “A-aah!” Dog was yelping—the skeletal thing’s hands scrabbled at his face, and she held her breath as she dove in to cut its head off.

She heard her companions shouting downstairs when she burst back out into the hall—something slammed her to the ground. Grey fingers tore sharp at her face and Karida sunk into her helmet, screaming, wrenching her knife from her boot. But no matter how much she stabbed its sagging, brittle flesh still it clawed. Until, “ _Dog_!” Dog tackled it off her, barking frantically. What in the Maker’s name were these things?!

She snatched up her shield and rushed down the stairs, blood dripping like tears down her cheeks, Dog limping down after her.

Karida’s eyes went wide at all the skeletal things writing black in the flames from Morrigan’s staff. “Get out!” cried the witch, just when Alistair ran inside yelling,

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing burning—“ Karida caught his arm as she ran outside. “What in Andraste’s name happened to your face?”

“We need to get out of here right now!”

Even Sten unfolded his arms when he saw her frantically look about. How—what— _Maker!_ —the goat screamed shuddering as dirt exploded from the pink daisies.

Grey hands sprouted from the earth.

Dog started snarling but Karida shouted, “Dog, _don’t_!” and Alistair yelled for everyone to follow him back up the hill. Overhead, the moon hung full and white.

More hands budded from the field up here while more of those things staggered across the bridge—their only way out!

Sten’s greatsword cleaved them in two, while Morrigan’s fire did not last. “Blood and damnation, I need lyrium to keep this up for longer.” She ground her teeth.

“So have you any magical inkling what in Andraste’s name is happening?” Alistair shouted at her.

“Only that I fear a demon at work here,” Morrigan replied. “The Veil feels very thin.”

 _Demons, Veil_ —Karida shook her aching head, and clutched her buckler tight when the door of the windmill opened.

“Over here! Quickly!”

 _Thank the Maker, somebody!_ Karida led the way into the dusty, musty mill where a man in mismatched armor beckoned her to a trapdoor in the floor. “In here!”

Alistair exchanged wild looks with her before they wasted no more time in doing as the man bid. Once all their companions had climbed (Dog leapt—at least it wasn’t far) down the ladder and were standing in the mud did the stranger shut the trapdoor locked.

“Maker, I didn’t believe it when I heard voices shouting outside,” he told them as they—except Sten—bent panting in the stale, moldy air. His name was Murdoch. For four days he said the villagers had been trapped here, while every night those undead _things_ sprung from the ground or rose from where they lay, and it was only by Bann Tegan’s giving him of the signet ring to open the trap door with that he kept the surviving villagers of Redcliffe safe.

“Bann Tegan?” Alistair repeated in disbelief. “The Arl’s brother is here? Where?”

Murdoch pointed a shaking finger to the gaping black tunnel from which dripping water echoed. The Bann had told him it led to the castle, but everyone had been too afraid to venture any further than the ladder, as it was from the castle that these things first came.

“Then that’s where we have to go,” Alistair said, his face pale.

“Really?” Karida squeaked before she could stop herself. She’d barely wiped any of the blood from the still-bleeding scratches on her face, and Dog was limping.

But he said they couldn’t lose any more time—“We have to find out what’s going on, and save the Arl if we can. Come on!”


	8. Let's Dance

Karida swallowed, her hand shaking the light of the torch she held. Alistair wavered dim in the shadows ahead of her. Blood stung her eye and she had to blink furiously to see again.

Though her legs still ached for rest, no undead seemed to shamble in this dripping subterranean warren. Morrigan had blessedly laid a spell on Dog’s paw so he no longer limped after everyone else, splashing and squelching in the mud.

“Yuck,” Leliana said, “You’d think a secret passage into a castle would be more…I don’t know, kept up? For all we know this might just be sunk in the lake.”

“It probably hasn’t been used in a long time,” Alistair murmured. “When I lived here as a boy, I’d never even heard a whisper of this.”

“You lived here before?” Leliana echoed Karida’s own thoughts. Alistair wasn’t some shem Arl’s son, _as far as I know…right? ‘You don’t have any idea who I am, do you, whore?’_ Karida shook her head, shivering from the cold drip-drops. _No, he lacks the arrogance._

His face went red in the torchlight. “I…was a ward of the Arl,” was all he would say.

Water-bloated wood beams braced the earthen walls and ceiling through this damp, tense darkness, until eventually stairs danced in the shadows ahead. _Why am I at the lead?_ Because the trapdoor was locked, of course, and the signet ring seemed only for the first door back by the villagers, so Karida nervously stretched up the top rung to listen as she picked the tumblers one by one. 

Rusty hinges SCREECHED when she pushed the door up. Heart in her throat, Karida slashed the torch violently before her while leaping back into Alistair—“Oof!”—who shoved her aside to draw his sword.

But there was nothing in the dark hall. Karida gave an abrupt, “A-heh,” to the other Warden’s furrowed brow as he took the torch from her.

Dark cells lined the corridor like black teeth. Halfway through, they came across a prone guardsman. “Is he dead-dead, or only faking?” Alistair wondered.

Sten answered the question with an echoing sword-fall that rent the body in two.

Alistair nodded. “Ah, thanks for clarifying.”

Leliana screamed.

She was on the ground. Dead hands clutched at her ankles through the floor grate that ran down the whole hall. Alistair shoved his torch at the snarling face through the bars, dousing the only light. And when a purple bolt lit the whole area, Karida reeled.

Dead men surrounded them—shambling from the black cells, crawling from the grate, grinning and growling.

Sten’s greatsword clanged against stone as the fight erupted. Karida was just wriggling her sword from its sheath when an undead lunged her into the wall. Voice shrill, she screamed as she knocked it off with her shield and sliced through the crunching, brittle bones of its neck. Its shriveled grey head rolled out from its helm across the floor. 

Green-feathered arrows flew and flames blazed until all the undead were truly dead-dead. Karida leaned against the wall, chest heaving, while Dog licked her hand. _Not cut out for this…_

Up from the dungeons and through the kitchens out into the dark midnight. The discordant melody of a flute and violin echoed from the castle doors hanging open across the courtyard, along with the sound of a child’s laughter.

There was something not _right_ about that laughing voice, too low and heavy for a child’s.

The castle doors burst wider open then, and out twirled a man in woman’s long green dress. “We’ve been expecting you,” he sang, bowing low.

“ _B-Bann Teagan_?” Alistair’s jaw fell open. “Wha—“ Shaking his head, Alistair ran after the man as he danced back inside. “Bann Teagan, wait!”

The rest of them hurried after him into the castle, only to find him standing still staring in the threshold of the throne room.

Men wearing dresses were dancing staggering together on the long table while women in armor were playing those instruments. Serving elves were leaping like circus acrobats over the table and chairs, between the men, and doing cartwheels around the whole room. And at the head of the room sat a woman bound and gagged to the throne—which was precariously perched on the mantle above the roaring hearth.

“That’s Lady Isolde.” Alistair looked to Karida in disbelief, then shook his head. “Right, I’m getting tired of this creepy torn Veil.”

None of the people seemed to notice the Wardens at all as they picked their way slowly down the carpet. Karida jolted back when the man in the green dress suddenly somersaulted out before them.

“Ta-dah!” His hand was raised to the Wardens as he bounced to his feet.

The sound of eager clapping drew their eyes up. The woman on the mantle was the only one who seemed to see them as she strained against the ropes. She wasn’t the one clapping, though. Atop the tall-backed throne stood a boy. The hair on Karida’s arms rose at the sound of his voice.

“Mother, look!” He bent down to wrench her head towards the Wardens. “These are the guests Uncle told us about!” He swung off the armrest of the throne like a bat clinging upside-down to a branch. “Ah, do you know them, Mother?” The boy’s head twisted around to the Lady’s tear-stricken face. “Any friend of Mother’s is a friend of mine. How do you like dancing?”

Bann Teagan cartwheeled off the dais and took Alistair’s hand so fast the Warden dropped his shield.

“See, they’re all having fun.” The boy hurdled back up on top of the throne. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

Karida felt a weird… _tingling_ in her head then, like it was her brain what was itching. Unseen hands suddenly wrenched her down and across the floor to where she lay petrified beneath a horrible floating figure with unnaturally long, dark claws reaching for her.

SLASH came a broad, heavy blade through its neck while Dog ran barking to her—before the thing exploded in a puff of green smoke and flame. Karida sprang up instantaneously, eyes wide, mind racing to process what just happened. Sten’s purple eyes narrowed down at her.

“Ah, ‘tis as I thought. Demons _are_ at work,” Morrigan observed coolly. Not even all this could ruffle her feathers. “And this boy is an abomination.”

Alistair tore away from the Bann. “When I said I’d never dance the Remigold, I meant it!”

“Un-penned mages draw demons like flies to a corpse.”

“While that might be insightful Qunari logic,” Karida continued to shiver all over, “I think now’s not a good time to argue magic. I thought demons were only in the Fade!”

“Oh no. When there is a tear in the Veil, they can spill forth and enter our world freely.”

Leliana hissed in Orlesian. “No, I said _no_.” She was pushing away the woman with a violin. “Then what do you suggest we do, Morrigan?”

“Usually, Alistair’s kind find the only way to deal with abominations is to kill them.”

“Please tell me you’re not suggesting we _kill_ a child.”

“The foolish boy is a child no longer.”

Clapping sounded just as the fire in the hearth blew out. “You’re supposed to _play._ Why aren’t any of you playing?”

The dancing figures stopped as one and every head in the room turned to the Wardens’ party.

Leliana smashed the woman’s violin against the dais steps with a dissonant TWANG _._

“Now that wasn’t very nice.” The child’s pupil-less eyes flashed. “I should’ve known how rude you would be.” Bann Teagan advanced on Alistair with a fire-poker while the boy leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “Fighting will be so much more entertaining.”

Karida ducked from a chair that splintered to the floor behind her, and one of the women in armor swung a music stand at Leliana. Sten roared in Qunari as he flung away men in dresses with a sweep of his arm. Alistair managed to bash the poker from Teagan’s grasp with his sword, but now the man tried to strangle him instead.

“Te-egan, it’s me!” he grunted, thrusting the man back. “Stop it! What’s happened to you?”

And Karida looked back at the child laughing atop the throne where that woman screamed muffled against the gag. Morrigan called him an abomination. Whatever that meant, it was clear he was pulling the strings here, so Karida drew her bow and held her breath.

The arrow struck the boy’s foot—startling him so much, he, the throne, and Isolde all toppled down. The people all stopped moving. Another chair crashed as it slipped from one man’s hands. The child lay howling and screaming, writhing on the bricks of the dais. Everyone began to collapse then. Karida glanced at Leliana before hurrying up to untie the woman from the broken throne arms.

“ _Connor!_ ” she shrieked, pushing Karida away once she was on her feet. “Oh, my son—“

“Don’t go near him,” Morrigan said loudly, streaks of purple light creeping across the floor from her staff and binding around the boy’s thrashing limbs.

“A…Alistair?” Teagan roused in Alistair’s arms, breathing in deeply and rubbing his brow. “I think…my mind is my own again.”

Connor began to whimper, “M-Mother?”

“Please, my son is not responsible—don’t hurt him anymore! He is not always the demon you saw.” Isolde wrung her hands helplessly, “There must be a way we can save him!”

One of the men in dresses stumbled to his feet. Karida squinted—maybe it wasn’t a dress but blue robes he was wearing after all. “Lady Isol-lde, listen to me,” pealed his thin voice. “Your son made a deal with a demon who’s not going to leave without—“

“ _YOU!_ It was you who did this to Connor!” Teagan scrambled up to restrain the Arlessa, and she sobbed.

“Jowan, if there is a way you can reverse all this, by the Maker do it now,” Teagan barked.

The man licked his lips as he passed through the Warden’s party to the broken throne. “I—I know this will sound awful, but there’s nothing else I can do to save him. The demon has to be confronted directly in the Fade. That usually involves a lot of mages and lyrium. But…I have blood magic.” Morrigan interrupted with a chortle. Jowan’s wide eyes swerved to her. “A-and without lyrium for power, I c-can use a person’s life energy instead. But, it would require…all of it.”

Sten spat something that sounded mean in Qunari.

And before Teagan could protest, Isolde stepped from his hold. “Let it be my blood.” Her voice was steady for once. She shushed the Bann when he tried to argue. “Either someone kills my son to destroy the thing inside him, or I give my life so that he may live. To me, the choice is clear.”

But to Karida, it wasn’t. Kill the boy, or kill his mother. _If_ (and it was a big ‘if’) Alistair’s Arl was still alive somewhere in the castle, surely he wouldn’t be happy the Wardens who needed his help had a hand in his son or wife’s death. She glanced to Alistair and could see the same look on his face. “Is there any other way?”she asked.

Dog growled. People in the room were beginning to stir, but so far no one threw any more chairs.

Brow furrowed deep, Alistair muttered, “There’s lyrium and more mages at the Circle of Magi…”

The map was clear in Karida’s mind. “It’s not very far from here, is it? And, don’t we need the mages’ help against the Blight anyway?” Alistair’s face lit up. “How long can he stay…restrained?”

“I would have to be here doing it,” snapped Morrigan, dark-stained lips pursed. “Perhaps another day or two, three if I had lyrium.”

“I-I can help power your spell,” Jowan offered, flinching when the witch glared at him again.

Teagan patted Isolde’s arm hopefully. “The Tower is about two days’ ride… If you both can keep him asleep, and you get the Circle’s aid, Alistair, we just might have a chance, and my brother might be well again.”

So the Arl was alive. To Alistair’s shock, Teagan explained that it was Teyrn Loghain working through the apostate Jowan, who’d been hired by Isolde to tutor her magic-touched son, to poison Arl Eamon. “You’re lucky you’re still alive,” he snarled at the mage.

“And we are lucky he is still here to make up for his blunder.” Leliana calmly sheathed her swords. “I say we leave at once for the Circle. These people seem free of the demon’s control now. Perhaps the undead will cease so long as Connor sleeps. Let us not squander our time.”

“Yes, please hurry.” The Bann bade them take any supplies they needed, and as many horses.

So it was settled, though Morrigan seemed not to like it one bit. Just as the party were about to turn, she caught Karida’s shoulder with a clear of her throat.

“If it be I must stay here, Warden, I would ask you a favor.”

Karida watched Alistair move cautiously between the still dazed and confused people in the hall. Morrigan didn’t strike her as one in need of favors, but…she was doing their cause a huge one right now.

“There is a book in the Circle Tower that belonged to my mother, stolen by templars long ago. Would you look for it there? I still offer the option of the dreamless potion, as compensation.” _So that’s why you proposed it in the first place. A favor for a favor_. Slowly, Karida nodded. “You shall have my gratitude. Now, be on your way. My desire to see those chattel of mages in their gilded prison will have to be satiated another day.”


	9. Cookie is a Circular Shape

Leliana kept a hand on the reins of Karida’s horse all the way from Redcliffe until they stopped to sleep and eat hours later. The moon was lowered behind clouds in the lightening sky. It would be morning soon.

Alistair’s shoulders were lifted as if unburdened now by Morrigan’s scathing remarks, and he chattered with Leliana about their time in the Chantry to keep them both awake as she made supper. Contrary to Leliana’s tranquil, pleasant sounding recuperation with the Sisters, Alistair had found monastery life almost maddening. She stuck out her lip and asked, “Wasn’t there anything you liked about it?”

“Templar training, I suppose—mostly the martial stuff. Not the learning-about-hunting-down-apostate bits.” He shuddered, telling them of Harrowings and how templars used lyrium to keep mages in check. “And then all those prayer and meditation times, hours of silence—it made me want to scream.”

“What took you from Redcliffe to the monastery, though?” Leliana’s head cocked to one side. “You said you’d been a ward there.” She was asking the same questions Karida was thinking.

His face reddening, Alistair stammered, “Did I say that? I meant dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfells.” His spoon slipped from his hand when Dog barked.

“I agree it’s an insult.” Karida couldn’t suppress her smile, “That _would_ explain the smell.”

“Well it wasn’t until I was eight that I discovered you didn’t have to lick yourself clean.”

He looked relieved she was playing along, so Karida made a show of nodding. “Old habits die hard.” The nervous feeling his attention once stirred in her was distant. It was as if she were talking comfortably with Soris, the way Alistair trivialized important things and tried to divert pointed questions with jokes. She wrinkled her nose, “Ah, and that also explains the breath.”

“And my table manners, too. Though, come to think of it, they weren’t all that different from the other templars’…” Cheeks still flushed when he looked at Karida, Alistair quickly said, “Or did I dream all that? Funny, the dreams you’ll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground, and the only other family you have are possibly dying—“ He shut his mouth. Leliana’s eyebrows rose.

“I’ve still been having strange dreams,” Karida cut in to redirect her attention, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Though, sometimes instead of darkspawn it’s you I’m strangling instead.”

With relief in his eyes, Alistair said in mock astonishment, “You would do violence? Upon me?” He scratched Dog’s side. “The dogs would never threaten me like this!” But under Leliana’s unfazed gaze, he cracked, “Alright, I’m a bastard! And before you make any smart comments, I mean the _fatherless_ kind. Look, if you’ve got to know, it’s like this...” He never knew his father, and his mother had been a high-ranking servant in Recliffe. Taken in by the Arl when she died, Alistair was treated well until Eamon married Isolde, who hated the rumors that pegged him as the Arl’s bastard, and she had him packed off to the nearest monastery at age ten. “I acted the perfect, ungrateful brat when the Arl would come to see me. I blamed him for everything.” His eyes glistened in the light of the fire.”Eventually, he stopped coming…”

“Oh.” Guiltily Karida exchanged glances with Leliana. Both apologized for prying.

“I was stubborn,” he waved them off. “And raised by dogs. Or may as well have been, the way I was. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I dunno…” Dog nudged his hand and he rubbed his ears some more. “All I know is that the Arl’s a good man and well-loved by the people. With Loghain behind what happened to him and King Cailan, he’s got plenty personal motivation to see justice done.”

They did not stop again for sleep until late into the next evening. Karida could hardly keep her head from nodding into the boiling pot.

“You are a Grey Warden, are you not?”

Her head snapped up as she dropped the spoon into the water. “Sod it. Yes, Sten.”

“Then how do you mean to end the Blight?”

 _By trying to get some rest first._ She chewed her lip, blinking sleep from her eyes under his heavy, unwavering violet gaze.”We can’t hope to fight the Archdemon alone—the darkspawn’ve had centuries to build their numbers. We need an army. So we’ve got to invoke these treaties and—“

“Then why do we waste time with this detour in Redcliffe, instead of seeking out the treaty participants? The longer we do not fight the Blight, the more it spreads, like a plague.”

“Well, we’re killing two birds with one stone by going to the Circle, since we need the mages’ help anyway. And we’ll need the Arl, Alistair says.” _Isn’t it nice how he gets to help_ his _family_? She scratched her neck in frustration. “By keeping his son alive, Eamon will be more willing to give us aid.”

Sten grunted. “You say you are a Warden. I have heard stories of your order.”

“And I’m not what you were expecting?” _Can’t blame you there…_

“Great strategists, peerless warriors; impressive accounts of bravery and honor.” _So pathetic I must look in your view_. “So far, I am not impressed.”

 _Ok, now I don’t need you telling me!_ “It’s a good thing I’m not here to impress you,” she said hotly.

“Evidently… It remains to be seen what you _are_ here for.”

Karida’s hands rose slightly in confusion as he turned. “So what are you here for?” When his mouth opened, she cut in, “I know to answer a question, but really— _what for_?” Not all this way to bandy metaphors or eat cookies, which he’d stuffed in his bag back in Redcliffe’s kitchens like he’d not see them again.

“It remains to be seen what I am here for, too.”

Her lips drew together as her brow furrowed. _Why even ask me_? Alistair was the real Warden anyway, the real leader.

After soup came blessed sleep, even if it did mean conjuring up things she’d rather forget

***

“WARDEN!”

Karida flew bolt upright. Moonlight flashed on metal overhead. She had just time enough to make out the shadowed, long-beaked figure—and only a second more to roll away right as the knife plunged into the pack her head had just lain on. She clutched Flynt’s dagger and slashed air.

Horses screamed and steel rang on steel while Sten yelled.

Karida spun from the assailant’s next swipe. Orange hair spilled over her eyes and she shook her head, gritting her teeth. _Where was Dog?_ The knife darted silver at her. Karida ducked down, and his foot caught in the strap of her pack when he lurched. Her blade slipped between his ribs. Howling, he backpedaled and she ripped her sword from its scabbard on the ground before plunging it into his gut. Her chest heaved as she sucked in the cool night air.

She sprinted into the figure sneaking upon Alistair, who was only just waking and groggily reaching for his shield.

Morrigan would’ve suspected an ambush. Karida blocked a jarring hit with her buckler, buying Alistair time to leap beside her and cut down the unlucky attacker. _Who would even send—_ her eyes narrowed as she remembered the soldiers from Lothering. “We should keep one alive. They’re probably Loghain’s.”

Alistair nodded. He swung his shield at one beaked shadow when another appeared behind him. Karida raised her shortsword with a yell, but he threw himself around in time to concuss one man with his shield and slice the other with his sword.

Karida yelled for Leliana. It had been her watch. _What happened to her and Dog?!_

Alistair kicked away the curved swords from the groaning man’s hands—expensive steel, carved with glowing runes—too fine for mere highwaymen.

Leliana ran breathless from the woods then, bow in one hand and the reins of a spooked horse in the other. “I nearly didn’t catch them all! They’d been cut loose.” Dog trotted behind her with his tongue hanging out.

Alistair grunted, “Get up,” as he yanked the live man to his knees by his black beak. Elf, Karida corrected when his hood fell away.

“Ugh, my head…” Black tattoos snaked along his high cheekbones. “Thought I’d wake up dead…”

“That can be arranged,” growled Sten.

Alistair flicked his sword to the assassin’s throat. “Who sent you? Loghain?” The point pressed a little harder and the elf raised his chin. “Talk before I let Sten fix your problem.”

“Ah, an interrogation?” Deep brown eyes moved from face to face. “Then let me get right to the point.” Yes, Teyrn Loghain had paid the Antivan Crows for the sole purpose of killing any remaining Grey Wardens, of which Karida and Alistair were the only known ones. But had he failed, then his life was forfeit as far as the Crows cared.

“ _If_ you had failed?”

With a smile the assassin said, “What can I say? I’m an eternal optimist. Although, the chances of succeeding at this point do seem a bit slim, don’t they?” His chuckle grew quiet when he looked between the Wardens’ frowns. “No, I don’t suppose you’d find that funny, would you?”

He went on to explain that if the Wardens didn’t kill him, the Crows would. Yet he preferred living, obviously, so he offered to serve them instead. “A life for a life—er, two lives. And honestly, I’d rather take my chances with you.” His eyes went from Leliana to Karida, “You seem like finer company.”

 _He’s got to be lying, buying time._ But nothing stirred beyond the horses in the trees around them.

“You’ve got to think we’re royally stupid,” snapped Alistair.

Leliana made him look incredulously when she said, “I think having an Antivan Crow on our side sounds like a fine plan. And, we could use the extra hand.”

Karida, who had even heard of their infamous renown in Denerim, nodded, while Sten hmm’d in what sounded like an approving tone. Even Dog didn’t growl at the assassin.

“No, no, no! None of you are seriously considering taking the _assassin_ with us? I mean—is his attempt on our lives not enough reason to trust him?!”

“I have known Crows to be useful before.”

“I’ll even shine armor. You won’t find a better deal, I promise!” The assassin grinned.

Fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword, Alistair swung his gaze on Karida. She chewed the inside of her cheek, caught still in the assassin’s gaze too. No, they couldn’t trust him, but he was indebted to them… “You did say that the Grey Wardens shouldn’t—“

“Turn away help offered in time of a Blight, I know. I regret telling you that,” he groused, dropping the tip of his sword. “Still, if there was a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said ‘hello’.”

“So, that’s it then…you’re with the Grey Wardens now.” _Hope I’m not sorry for this later…_

He stood, his dark green cloak swaying behind his calves. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man. This, I swear.” Leliana welcomed him, and he lifted his head mid-bow. “Oh? I wasn’t aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers. My name is Zevran—Zev to my friends.” Her smile dropped when he took her hand. “Should we not be acquainted?”

“No, no you’re right. I am Leliana,” and she shook his hand awkwardly.

“And you Grey Warden,” he turned to Karida with a smile, “what is your name?”

Biting her lip, suddenly cold all over as she took her hand back quickly, she mumbled her name just when Alistair barged beside her. “Knock it off, _Zev_.”

Both blond eyebrows rose, the eyes beneath flicking between the two. “Hmm, I was getting to you, my friend…”

“Warden Alistair. Not your friend. Why don’t you pick up the mess of _your_ friends?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I can do that.” Like a dog who’d been hit, Zevran’s beaked hood drooped.

Hand on her arm, Alistair pulled Karida aside, and his voice dripped with distrust. “Don’t let your guard down. If he so much looks at us the wrong way, I’m gonna kill him.”

No one could sleep after that. They might as well press on to the Circle, Alistair thought, even if it was still night. Karida opted to ride with Leliana as she was no good on her own anyway, and the assassin took Karida’s old shaggy roan. Both kept a watchful eye on him while Leliana extended the olive branch of friendliness to him, explaining their quest along the way.

Stomach lurching with each hurtle, Karida kept silent, sweating from the feeling of the elf’s eyes on her from time to time. She wouldn’t tell Alistair, not yet. They should at least give him a chance.

***

“Parshaara!” Sten shouldered between Karida and Alistair, thrusting a couple crumbling biscuits into the templar’s hands. “Much on these if you like. Now let us across.”

That cozy looking inn (hopefully without nightmarish undead eating people in it) dwindled on the opposite shore. With talk of unrest in the Tower, Alistair insisted they go at once, so Karida tried to keep herself awake as the ferry rocked them gently.

“Thank you for satiating this hungry man’s desires, my fine tall fellow. Sorry I never did catch your name. Would you care to enlighten me?” Zevran did look comically small beside the Qunari.

“No.”

“Ah, I see.” Nodding, his deep brown eyes glided sidelong, “Then perhaps the fair Warden can.”

Color rose to Karida’s face no matter how hard she bit her lip. “His name’s Sten.” _Don’t look at me._

Scowling across from Karida, Alistair snapped, “Blast it, leave off! We’re trying to plan here.”

Zevran’s hands flew up, “I was just trying to make conversation. I am sorry to disturb you, Wardens.”

The words of the Circle of Magi’s treaty swam in Karida’s half-awake vision as Alistair tried to discuss what they’d say. Hopefully this diplomacy wouldn’t take all day. She covered a yawn, thinking of the cozy warm bed awaiting her return.


	10. Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams

One of the doors of the Circle hung open perilously from its hinges, revealing an unwelcoming darkness within. Karida gave Alistair a questioning look before walking beside him into the hall.

Pink and green flames sprouted from the brazier in the room’s center just as both the doors flew shut with a CRASH behind them.

“Ok, ha-ha, you mages sure like to be funny,” Alistair’s voice cracked. He covered his mouth.

The door did not budge even under Sten’s Qunari strength, so their only way to go was forward. The long red carpet hung motionless high above their heads and the incongruous smell of cookies baking drew them on.

A mage lay dead in the doorway of the great kitchen, a paper clutched in his purple hands. He looked almost like he’d been drowned, with his bloated skin.

“How very…strange all this feels.” Leliana read the note, “’ _The doors have been barred. They’ll call for the Rite soon.’_ ”

Alistair looked up at the papers floating on an unfelt breeze. “Like, stranger than people under a spell dancing on tables, or…?”

“I had heard how mages dance nude under the full moon atop the Tower here,” Zevran offered hopefully. “If, any of them still live. Hopefully we will live through this.”

Alistair’s lip curled, “Thought you would like looking at dead bodies, in your line of work.”

Zevran muttered in Antivan with a shrug. Karida and Dog led the way across the kitchen into another hall where blue torches stuck out from the walls at abnormal angles. Morrigan would know what was going on. Karida considered herself lucky that in her line of work she’d never broken into any mage-owned home in Denerim, if this unreality was what would’ve awaited her.

Another mage’s body, just as purple but more swollen, lay at the foot of a staircase. The scent of oranges wafted down to them.

“It’s funny, but that smells reminds me starkly of my mother right now,” Leliana murmured.

The walls of the stairway had begun to…move? Karida had to blink to make sure she wasn’t so sleepy she was seeing things. Yes, the bricks were in fact vibrating in place but not making a sound.

“What, do you Alistair, suppose is happening?” He’d been a templar, or almost one; surely this had an explanation.

“I dunno, but I’ve got a feeling we’ll find out soon.”

Karida plucked a paper from the air, but this one only read, ‘ _The Litany’_. Alistair shrugged at it. Books flapped like birds at random from shelves of the enormous library. Tables and chairs hung upside down from the ceiling, and more bodies lay piled in here. Some wore the silver mail of templars but all were swollen more than the last, purplish skin bulging from their shoulders through their clothes. It was then Karida realized that the smell of oranges had faded and now that of wet dog reached her. She wondered if Sten’s hatred of mages was only growing.

Like wandering in some strange dream world, each level they ascended to brought new smells and sights. Walls rippled like something slithered beneath their bricks, reeking of burning flesh and sewage, green flames flared over doorways and blocked their way, and they found not a single person alive. From the flying papers, the name ‘Uldred’ repeated again and again. _‘This Harrowing would be different now without the templars…he promised a gift of power beyond imagining…he said we’d make the templars pay…’_ Each grew more illegible that by the last one Karida caught she could barely make out the hasty red scrawl.

On the fifth floor the walls had begun to weep blood. They waded through a hall flooded ankle-deep with crimson and the smell of it almost brought Karida to retching. One of the floating scraps of parchment soared right into the back of Sten’s white braids. Growling, he handed it down to Leliana.

“ _‘We have been lied to.’_ ”

And all at once, every paper turned mid-air and fell on them like arrows.

“Ah!” Alistair ducked under his shield and Leliana held her arms over her head as blood sprayed from the impacts and their running boots. Karida scrambled to read the ones she could, drenched in red as they were:

_‘They have taken the First Enchanter. He would not accept the gift... He must be stopped… Only hope is the Litany… Wynne, you must find it… I have been discovered… Help us… don’t lock us in!... They told me not to look. Why did I have to look…’_

The sound of a man crying out made them swerve into a room lined with bookcases. At the other end was a closed door from where the voice came. Alistair shoved open the door. The stench of rot hit them like a wall so hard they recoiled.

“Oh, Maker,” Alistair’s cheeks looked almost green, and Karida spat out the bile that had crept up her throat.

The bodies laid out in here looked decayed as if for several weeks—and they were arranged in a… _deliberate_ spiral that coiled to the room’s center where there shuffled a swollen, humpbacked, purplish figure.

“What is this?” _It could_ speak?! Voice resonating, rumbling like a snore, “More company?”

Two green feathered arrows found its chest. Without effect. It began move towards them, slowly, and the bow in Karida’s hands felt unusually heavy. She became aware full-force of just how _tired_ she was.

“You are all weary,” came that almost soothing voice, bubbling like a stew. Karida blinked hard, leaning against the wall to stay upright. “Why don’t you lie down and rest?”

“ _Katara bas_!” Sten gripped his head. “Get out!”

“D-don’t listen to it!” But Alistair dropped grunting to one knee, shield slipping from his fingers.

Curved swords clattered to the floor as Zevran keeled over and Leliana collapsed on top of him.

“Yes, go to sleep now.”

Karida tried to raise her leaden arms as she slid down the wall, gritting her teeth as a hazy sensation prickled over her skin. “Don’t fight it…you are so tired, yessssss….you must ssssssss

s

l

e

e

p

* * *

“Karida.”

“Mm…” Her fingers curled. 

“Karida, wake up!”

Slowly, her amber eyes opened. Karida was lying on the most comfortable bed she’d ever felt, powder blue flower petals strewn in her clean curly hair. _Where…am I?_ The thought came as if through a fog. She rubbed her cheek—the light of the room was almost too bright.

“You look so lovely.”

 _That voice…_ She turned to the elf standing at the foot of the bed, her mouth falling open. “Nelaros…?”

Mother’s dress swished softly against her ankles when she stood, and he took her hand, watching with those pretty blue eyes. “Nelaros,” she repeated, looking from him to the window facing the vhenadhal, and unsure, she stepped back. “But you…you’re…you’re not… Ugh, I can’t remember.” She held her brow, but everything was just so hazy…

“Karida, don’t worry yourself,” he took her hand and she felt her cheeks flush, “We’re married after all.”

She blinked. “We are?”

He laughed, “Of course, Karida! You were so exhausted during the ceremony that you fainted. You had such terrible dreams, but now you’re better. Don’t you like it here?” Gently, he turned her to take in the nice cozy bed, the nice table Father had made, the nice warm fireplace with a porridge bubbling in the pot. “Your cousins will want to see you. Don’t you want to go to them?”

“I…had a lot to tell them, but…I can’t remember…” Something was… _off_ about it all. A little brown mouse scurried across the rug with a rolled up paper in its mouth, and it stopped when it spotted her looking at it.

“But what, my sweet?”

Her brow furrowed as a thought flickered dimly— _‘I won’t let them take you!’_ —it was _him_ that was off. “It’s just not right…not you.”

He frowned, his fingers curling tighter on her hand. “I just want to make you happy. Why can’t you be happy with what I’ve given you?”

She broke away. Something in his eyes changed—harder, hateful. “Nelaros, I didn’t—“ Yet as she gazed at him, it dawned on her. “Have your eyes always been blue?”

That did it. Memories came flooding back in a torrent, tumbling over the next to be remembered first—the wedding, the disaster, Duncan, Ostagar, stinking snarling darkspawn, shuffling slobbering undead, pages flying like birds—and that snoring soothing voice.

“You—Nelaros is dead!” She swung her hand at him. “You’re not real!”

Nelaros—the demon—whatever it was, wavered like smoke between her fingers. All around her the too-nice house swirled away like water down a drain. 

“Aren’t I?”

Dark walls sprung up, surrounding her in a long hall lined with barred doors. When she looked back at him, he was changed. Taller, wider, dressed in the fine clothes of a nobleman. Courage fled her in the blink of an eye as panic squeezed its fist around her lungs.

“Y-you.”

“Yes, me little knife-ear.”

A violent shiver ran down her spine. “No.” She shook her head. “No, you’re not real—this is just, some kind of dream…”

His hand seized her waist—she jerked back, but he flung her into the wall. “That’s what you want it to be, whore, but this _is_ real. I _am_ real.”

No you’re not. I _killed_ you!” she shouted. SLAP. Lip bleeding, she drove her knee into his gut and his grip loosened, and she ran. His voice shrieked after her while the little mouse scampered ahead of her as she ran as fast as she could, and then suddenly—she rammed into something.

“Hey, it’s great to see you again. Come on in!”

She blinked. “Alistair?” And she spun quickly. There was only a cobblestoned street behind her, the shadows of houses alongside it stretching in the dying sunlight. The mouse hurried away, but returned when it saw she hadn’t followed.

“This is my sister, Goldana,” he was saying. A woman at the head of the table waved, and children chattered noisily from the chairs. 

“We were about to cut the roast when you knocked,” Goldana said. _I’d knocked?_ “It’s so good to have Alistair home.”

“Me too. We’re one big happy family, at long last.”

Drawn in by the mouth-watering savory smell and the warm fire—yet, Karida couldn’t help but feel something was wrong. That was when her eyes fell on the shadow in the corner. “Who’s that?”

Alistair frowned, turning. “’One big happy family’. Does that include me, dear brother?” Golden armor glinted in the flames. Karida knew his face. That braided blond hair, that confident smile. “Would you have saved me, brother, if you’d been there? Or is it only Duncan you mourn?” A crown dripping with blood hung in his hand. “Do you think of me at all when you dream of returning to Ostagar for him?”

Alistair stepped back, hands held out, “Cailan, I’m sorry—I don’t—I didn’t—“

A tap on her shoulder. Karida turned. SLAP.

“This wouldn’t be happening at all if not for you!” Alayna shrieked in her face. “You’re just like your mother, always stirring up trouble with humans!”

Nola was rocking on her haunches, Valora shivered in the corner, and Shianni…

“Y’know, when those lords’ve had their fun, we get the leftovers.......”

Mud pooled around her feet. _Move_. Karida had to move, _now_. There was snarling behind her.

Her white dress soiled was brown. Terrified, she looked over her shoulder. Darkspawn were gaining on her. Snarling, closer. Blood hammered in her ears. Something slammed into her back and she sank into the muck, barely able to raise her arms to cover her head from the whistling ax descending—

Someone was crying. “There, there, my love…you are safe.” The voice then spoke in Orlesian.

A long red carpet stretched before her down the hall. Soft candlelight glimmered through the crack of one door. Inside on the bed, a raven-haired woman patted the back of another whose face was buried in her shoulder. “Hush, Leliana. You must not weep so…”

At another door came the sound of a crank turning and a man crying out. “You can’t be making all that noise if you want to be a Crow. Again!”

Inside, Zevran lay there bound to a strange table, blood running rivulets across his tattooed chest.

 _Mouse_ was the only thought to burst through the foggy fearful forgetting of her mind. It was at her feet, then scurrying on down the hall, stopping to lift its forefeet up to see if she followed. But sobbing again drew her to the next door, which she pushed ajar.

And her heart fell right through to her stomach.

Shianni lay crumpled in a mess of bloody sheets beside the bed, her body wracked with each gasp, with each sob. Karida’s mouth opened uselessly. Lips trembling, she extended a hand, “S-Shianni.” Dress ripped and stained, skin blotched and bruised. Karida’s legs gave out and she slumped to her knees. “Shianni…”

Red hair wet with sweat clung to Shianni’s brow when she raised her head. Puffy, bloodshot eyes stared vacantly. “You came too late, sister.” Karida blinked away tears. “You didn’t save me.”

“No, Shianni—I tried, tried to—,” she stammered. _‘ **No!** Don’t take Shianni! T-take me, instead!’ _

Shianni shook her head, face blank. “It wasn’t good enough.” _‘Just, don’t hurt her.’_ “You _deserted_ me!”

“No, no, no, _no_ , Shianni!” Sobs strangled her voice, “I didn’t, I thought…” _‘Sh-Shianni is safe?’_

“You let yourself _believe_ it.”

Karida’s shoulders drooped as she looked away. “Oh— _no_.” Black bruises on Shianni’s throat accused her. “I…it was the onl-ly way I could…Shianni, pl-l-lease, I never thought…”

“ _You believed him!_ ”

His breath was warm against her neck. “I _promise_.”

Karida whipped her head about just as lightning CRACKED overhead. Rain pounded down on her kneeling in the grass. Neither it nor the dark night could shroud the forlorn farmhouse looming ahead, or the big figure kneeling on the steps of it. Purple eyes stared passed her, white strands of hair plastered against russet skin. “They did not have my sword.” It was then she noticed the other forms in the grass, prone, bloody, beaten. “They did not have it.” Purple eyes dragged to hers, but still didn’t seem to see her. “They did not have my sword.”

The mouse tugged on the hem of her dress. White light FLASHED as she lifted her leg to stand. The patter of rain was gone, replaced by silence. A pair of boot drooped in front of her. Little pink mouse feet pushed over one, silver peeking from its cuff. She bent to take the dirk.

“Don’t make me get the other girl instead.”

Spinning, knife held out, she gasped— _He_ was standing there, hands over his face, red seeping between his fingers. “I—I can’t see.” He lowered his hands and she stumbled back, unable to tear her gaze away—red eyeless holes gaped back. “You bitch! I’ll _kill_ you!” Blindly he swung his sword.

She leapt back from the hall through another door.

“Where were _you_ when this happened?” snapped an old woman’s voice. Hair white as snow and eyes blue as ice, she clutched a long metal staff. The bodies of children dressed in mage garb spiraled around her. She was looking at the mouse, and didn’t seem to see Karida dripping mud there in the doorway. “It is your fault I am here! Why can’t you find a way out?!”

The mouse ran from Karida to the woman, and scampered up her robes to drop the parchment into her wrinkled hands. It began squeaking loudly when it looked up.

“You _owe_ me, knife-ears.”

Red, oozing, empty eye sockets. His fingers dug into her hip. Blood dripped down the side of his nose. He yanked her closer. The dagger was tight in her hands. She plunged it into his throat.

Gurgling. Blood running from the corners of his smiling lips, he sputtered, “Your death…will be slow…and…painful.” Blood ran between her fingers. She released the knife, horror washing over her as she stepped back. “I…hope you…like the…gift…” Laughter rang all around her.

She turned and ran. _‘Come any closer, human, and I’ll take out the other eye!’_

Eyes. Hundreds of thousands of eyes opened up wide all around, each staring at her running in her bloody, muddy, torn wedding gown, staring as flowers flew from the orange tangle of her hair, staring as she suddenly slipped on a pile of bloody bed sheets and fell—down, down, down, tumbling down through the darkness, screams tearing from her throat as water ripped from her eyes and her stomach soared in her throat. _‘Damaged goods…Nobody will care…’_ Countless hands came at her, searching, groping, fumbling to catch her as she plummeted between their fingers, her arms flailing, with no ground in sight, down and down and

d

o

o

o

w

n


	11. A Blizzard of Wizards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's fucking beard

And Karida awoke.

She was up in a jolt, and saw the blood trickling from the swollen figure’s eyes and the gouge in its throat just before it collapsed.

“What just happened?”Leliana gasped.

Zevran sat up beside her, reaching for his swords. “Where did those luscious wood nymphs go?”

“We were dreaming in the realm of that sloth demon,” said a new voice, quavering with barely held-back exhaustion. A woman rose leaning on a staff from the circle of dead, her hair all white. “They lure the unwary to sleep, and leech the life out of them.”

Karida’s head still felt heavy with fog. She rubbed her nose on her sleeve and realized now how wet her cheeks were. The dream, no—the nightmare had been so terrible and confusing, yet… _why?_ It was all fading now… Alistair cast a worried look from her to the mage.

“I remember you from Ostagar, young man. One of the junior Grey Wardens. One of the few that remain now,” she shook her head. “I am Wynne, Enchanter of the Circle. I take it you came on some errand of import and fell unsuspecting into the chaos here. There is no time to explain all that has happened, only that if nothing is done to stop Uldred now and save the Circle, there will be no more Circle, for Knight Commander Greagoir will return with a whole retinue of templars to carry out the Rite of Annulment. Will you help me?” Wynne’s voice was steadier now, and backed by an iron conviction. She was also holding tight a scroll that Karida vaguely remembered seeing somewhere.

Well, as there was no turning back anyhow, the Wardens agreed and the party gathered themselves to follow the old mage, who explained that this Uldred was using some strange magic to control templars and mages alike, and transform them into abominations. The scroll she had contained a powerful spell that would disrupt his mind control magic over them, but only for a moment. That was when the party should strike.

Hoping perhaps to save their element of surprise, Karida chose to set her lockpicks to the locked door instead of having Sten barge noisily through. And up within the Harrowing chamber lay a harrowing sight.

A man knelt in the middle of the room, swaying, lost as if in a trance, as grotesque, swollen figures like the sloth demon held up their arms around him and chanted discordantly. Many mages lay prone against the wall, while others sat up holding their heads and shrieking.

Something dripped onto Karida’s shoulder, and she looked up, her eyes going wide at the sight of men’s bodies hanging from the ceiling. All their skin flayed away, with only the square helmets of templars remaining on their heads. Green smoke writhed like eels in the air between them, then coiled down at the kneeling man and seeped into his nose, his eyes, his mouth.

A white blast of sparks from Wynne’s staff dispersed the smoke, and hissing as if from a multitude of snakes filled the air.

“Ah Wynne, you’ve finally decided to join us.” When the smoke cleared, it revealed a bald man standing with the grotesque figures, holding a fat black tome in his hands.

“Be silent, snake,” Wynne thrust her staff and a golden bolt flew at the man. Green smoke swallowed it the instant it neared his face.

“Resistance, resistance. Look what I’ve done with those who’ve resisted me.” The smoke around the man began to shimmer. Karida took a step back to the door while Dog planted his feet with a snarl. Maker, she had no wish to suffer the same fate as those poor sods above! “Now, do be a good little loyal Enchanter and tell me where you’ve hidden the rest of the apprentices. I’ve been waiting to give them my gift as well as to you.” Flesh swelled from the man’s robe so suddenly and he began to grow, sprouting eyeballs and horns at random from his increasing girth. And from the smoke there appeared creatures—purplish swollen ones like the sloth demon, ones swathed in flames, and others that floated with claws dragging on the floor.

Karida became aware then of Wynne’s chanting just as she slammed the unfurled scroll on the floor and gold light exploded under her hands. “NOW!”

The gold light seemed to freeze the creatures mid-step. Karida fired an arrow instinctively at one of Uldred’s now many eyeballs. Alistair hurtled for Uldred’s now enormous leg while Sten’s greatsword cleaved three purple creatures in twain. Green feathered arrows volleyed at the eyes. Yet Zevran hung back near Karida, his eyes wide.

“I never would have believed joining up with Grey Wardens to be such risky business.” There was only a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice now.

“Neither did I.” Karida’s third arrow had as much effect as the first, making the thing Uldred had become cry out in fury and swipe at her dodging form. _Why why why did we leave Morrigan behind?!_ Dog latched on to Uldred’s enormous hand, bursting the many eyeballs of varying size in the vice grip of his jaws. But as Uldred lifted his hand, Dog dropped to the ground with a yelp and Karida ran to shove him out the way of the fist that came crashing after him. But the impact jarred the ground so much it crushed the tiles and sent Karida sprawling, smashing her head into a column with skull reeling, shoulder searing, vision swimming.

Wynne kept chanting the spell of the scroll as she sent bolts of lightning at the huge demon of Uldred, while Leliana sent more and more arrows at the now moving purple swollen things. A swing of Sten’s greatsword through Uldred’s ankle brought him to one knee. Alistair was trapped under his shield between two demons juggling fire over him. Karida rose to run to him just as Leliana shrieked—blood was spurting from her stomach. Karida shot at the purple demon assailant before an icy blast suddenly caught her foot and sent her to the ground. Dog sprung snarling at the advancing purple creature to only be flung back whining in a blast of snow. Karida hissed in pain, and reached for her sheathed sword as the abomination’s hands glowed with another spell. She heard Alistair’s shield clang to the ground as he cried out. Even Sten screamed in Qunari but Karida could not see for ice flashed and froze her hand to her hilt. The purple abomination loomed over her frozen half in ice to the floor, its swollen face leering— _Maker, why did they abandon Morrigan?!_

A shriek so loud it shattered the windows of this chamber startled the abomination then. Deafened, Karida snatched for a grenade in her belt even as ice slowed her veins and made her free hand weak, and she slammed the firebomb against her frozen side. She yelled as the flames scorched through her clothes—but now at least she was free, and she leapt up with her sword in the abomination’s back.

The huge beast of Uldred had Sten clutched in one taloned hand and was trying to reach around its back for something—Karida covered her ears at the next shriek—Zevran had both his swords in Uldred’s back. Pulling one out, he stabbed the other higher, then used the first to do the same, _climbing_ up the eyeball dotted spine as Uldred flailed wildly and dropped Sten in the process.

Karida ran to where Leliana knelt, arms around her belly, while Zevran swung himself up onto Uldred’s shoulder as it howled. The bard struggled to draw her bowstring and fell back into Karida’s arms. “Stop, stop, stop, don’t move!” she cried, gently rolling her to the floor and waving her hands helplessly in panic before pressing them against the spurting wound in Leliana’s belly. “Wynne!”

Alistair lunged to cut Uldred’s other ankle while it reached clumsily for Zevran, who pierced several of the eyeballs on his head before leaping to drive both swords deep into Uldred’s skull.

Karida’s ears were still ringing from the last shriek when Uldred screamed again. And then the hulking body THUNDERED to the ground amidst a series of squelching noises as the eyeballs burst from the impact.

Old as she was, Wynne came hastily to Karida’s side while chanting a different spell. Karida held Leliana’s shoulders down as pink light leapt in thin strands from Wynne’s red fingertips, weaving between the edges of the wide wound and drawing the skin together. “All I can do is stem the bleeding for now.” Karida swept the sweaty hair from Leliana’s brow. “I must see to the others.”

With Uldred downed, the many remaining abominations were in disarray and the otherworldly demons had vanished, making relatively quick work to finish off. And by now, all the screaming mages had stopped. Wynne ran to catch one old man who was struggling to his feet.

“Oh, Irving, you’re alive!”

Karida’s eyes were just beginning to droop when she felt a tongue brush her cheek. Blood trickled from the punctures in Dog’s side and he was limping again, but still he turned his tongue on Leliana who lay moaning beside Karida.

“Maker, is she gonna make it?” Alistair asked as he ran panting to them.

“Wynne says it was blood magic,” she told him, looking up at his blood smeared face and charred shield. “Are you alright?” He nodded, and her eyes swung round to all the bodies beginning to rise unsteadily around the circular chamber. Zevran dragged himself out from under the arm of the fallen Uldred and Karida felt her heart rise. “Thank you; if not for you, we’d not have stopped him.”

“Easy there, First Enchanter. And yes, I have kept many of the acolytes and younger enchanters safe and hidden. Please, rest right here.” Wynne lifted her head to the approaching, dazed mages. “Come, help me tend the wounded, if any of you are able.”

Karida scooted back and stood as Wynne came to put more spells on Leliana. She thought again of how much help Morrigan would be right now, and remembered something. Her eyes alighted on the big black book lying on its pages on the ground, soaking up the oozing green blood that was now pooling from Uldred’s shriveling body.

The old man, First Enchanter Irving, was saying something to Alistair as Karida came back to help Leliana to sit up. “I am...I think I can… walk now,” she told Karida in a strangled gasp, and Karida slipped an arm under her shoulder to lift her.

Alistair lent his arm for Irving to lean on too, and the old man hobbled to the stairs. “We must make haste to send word to Greagoir, before he storms in with the Rite of Annulment. Curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower…”

***

The strangeness of the place was starting to fade as they wound their way back down to. The blood flooded halls were draining, papers fluttered listlessly to the floor, and the long red carpet had fallen and led its crumpled twisted way to the entrance hall where they met a host of righteous templars.

“Carol, you had explicit instructions to not let _anyone_ cross the lake!”

It took the last of Alistair’s willpower to argue between the Knight Commander and First Enchanter Irving, while all Karida’s was spent and she leaned against the wall supporting a half-conscious Leliana. The dream of this place remained only a half-forgotten feeling of shame and anguish to her, and as she watched Alistair with half-closed eyes, she remembered something of apprehension at him.

“Karida? Karida Tabris, is that you?”

The voice startled Karida’s eyes wide and she looked up at the red haired elven woman who’d been among the mages brought from Wynne’s hiding place.

“Oh, it _is_ you.” She took Karida’s arm and Karida stiffened, standing straighter. “Oh, you wouldn’t remember me, you were so young. They said I’d died in a fever—it’s me, your aunt Erin, Shianni’s mother.” Erin was smiling. “A Grey Warden you are now, look at you! But tell me, how is Shianni? She never knew me. I haven’t had any word from your father since Adaia was killed,” her grip tightened on Karida’s arm, “Please, tell me Shianni is well.”

Guilt tightened her throat as Karida bit back the sudden tears. “Shianni is well. I…we, well, it’s been…”

Aunt Erin (a name she now remembered was familiar) smiled wanly, tears in her eyes, and gave her arm a squeeze just as Alistair came over to take her between Greagoir, Irving, and Wynne. Now that the threat of abominations had been laid to rest and the templars put down their weapons for Annulment, Alistair had invoked the Grey Warden treaty with the Circle. He also told Karida of the old woman’s desire to join them not just for returning to Redcliffe to tend Connor but to join their party as well.

Alistair thought their journeys might be too much for, “someone of your…um, age.”

Karida had not even the strength to spare a smile at his tone, and she shrugged. Wynne’s age hadn’t seemed to slow her down in their fight with Uldred and she had healing powers beyond Morrigan’s remedies. And mages always seemed useful for knowing things.

“Mages are also the reason for the destruction here.” Sten’s voice came as a low growl. Karida could see how of course their struggle in this nightmarish quest only drove home his already mistrustful opinions of magic, but he wasn’t the one making decisions here.

Irving spoke in favor of Wynne’s loyalty to the Circle and of her trustworthiness to the templar Commander, who finally agreed, and it was settled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, First Enchanter, Wardens, there is the matter of clean up that must be tended to,” Greagoir snapped.

“Yes…there is much to be done, and much to prepare for,” Irving sighed tiredly. “May the Maker go with you, Wynne. And again, thank you Wardens. The Circle would not be standing if not for you.”

Alistair crossed an arm over his chest like Duncan had done, and Karida thanked him in return.

***

Leliana awoke in tears that afternoon, the wound in her abdomen blooming red again, and Karida again was thankful to have Wynne. The mage insisted she ride with Leliana when they set out from the inn, so Karida shared Alistair’s horse as they led the wagonload of mages to Redcliffe.

Bizarre bits and pieces of the Fade dream lingered fuzzy at the edges of her mind, and again there was that apprehension of Alistair. _What had it been?_ It made her brain hurt to try and remember

Day and night they rode. Who knew what was happening back in the castle. Surely Morrigan was keeping the abomination child in check, and Karida hoped it wasn’t becoming too much for her. As…off-putting the witch could be and as unclear her intentions were, Karida had to admit: she liked Morrigan, and thought her as much a friend as any she had out here.

Alistair bristled suddenly and the horse reared. Dog began to bark shrilly. “Wha—!”Karida instantly hung onto his waist, eyes wide over her shoulder at the incoming ground.

“Darkspawn ahead!” Alistair drew his sword, reigning the mount back on all fours. Karida unwrapped her arms and notched an arrow shakily. She’d never shot from horseback! Her hands could scarcely draw back the bowstring before having to grip the saddle soon as the horse moved again. Blasts of magic immobilized the darkspawn that bounded around them and the mages made short work of them.

“Why didn’t I sense them this time?” Karida wondered what it even felt like. _Have I been missing it?_

“It’s…hard to explain.” Alistair gave a quick glance over his shoulders, cheeks flushed. “There’s this…weird feeling you get in your head, and in your nose and ears all at the same time…ah, I’m not as good as Duncan at explaining it… But you should begin to notice it soon, I think.”


	12. Your Mother and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How dare you, she's a nice lady!

“You were successful, it appears.” Morrigan greeted them at the stables of Redcliffe, looking quite unruffled. Alistair dismounted and raised an arm for Karida, who gladly took it to slide off the tall horse. “Mages and lyrium you bring, but who is this?”

The assassin swept before the witch and took her hand. “Zevran is my name. Would you grace me with yours, oh lovely creature?”

Chuckling, she said, “Morrigan, if you must know. Where did they find you?”

Alistair shouldered roughly past Zevran. “He’s an assassin Loghain sent to kill us in our sleep.”

“But!” Zevran held up a finger. “You did decide to keep me along when I surrendered and begged for my life. Though, only at the behest of your fairer companions. Even Sten doesn’t mind me.”

Sten hmph’d.

“Oh?” Morrigan pulled her hand from his. “How unlike you, Alistair.”

“Where’s Bann Teagan? And Connor—is he still asleep?”

Connor lay still on a cot in the center of the throne room, surrounded by sprawling chalk glyphs on the floor. The Circle mages stood around him in a circle of candles and began to chant as Wynne drank lyrium and entered a trance-like state. And then for a long time, it seemed like nothing happened. Karida didn’t know much of magic, but somehow was expecting something more than this. Her stomach spoke up after some time. Just as she reached in her pack for a snack, Connor suddenly sat up screaming on his cot. He reached for Wynne’s face, yet her eyes remained closed and she remained still and his arms could not even reach her due to his restraints. He wailed and shrieked like a wild hog, and Bann Teagan held back a sobbing Lady Isolde until finally Connor collapsed the instant Wynne’s eyes opened.

“It is done.” She swayed in her chair. “The demon is defeated and the boy is himself again. He will not remember what he has done when next he wakes.”

They then learned of the Arl’s unchanged state from Teagan, who pleaded the Circle mages try their luck with Eamon. Out of lyrium, unsuccessful, the mages departed shaking their heads.

“The demon Connor made a pact with was keeping the Arl alive, but now… He still lives, but I cannot tell you for how much longer. There is nothing my magic can do,” Wynne said tiredly.

So this whole ordeal was a waste then, like Sten said. _But…the people in Redcliffe we saved, the mages still alive in the Circle…but then again, the Blight spreading farther and faster without Warden forces subduing it…_

“There has to be something!” Alistair slammed his fists against the bed’s headboard.

Teagan rubbed his brow. “That something is rest for now.” He offered them stay the night and discuss plans for action in the morning, as threat of the undead died with Connor’s slumber and the villagers were returning to daily life. “But Alistair,” Teagan stole a glance to Karida, “would you remain a moment? I’d like a word.”

Alistair faltered, “Of course, Bann Teagan.” _Why would he be uneasy to speak with his family?_

On Karida’s way up to one of the non-undead damaged rooms allotted to her and Morrigan, Wynne asked her a moment’s favor from her own doorway.

“It was you, in the Fade who struck down the sloth demon, wasn’t it?” The mage’s voice was soft. “I wanted to thank you personally. You seemed to be the only one to keep her wits about her under the demon’s spell, and you followed the advice of my student Niall.” Tears threatened to break the ice of the resolute blue of her eyes. “If you hadn’t, we would all be dead under the Rite of Annulment. You have a strong will not even demons can tamper with.”

“Oh it tampered with me enough,” Karida said, trying to sound confident though the sight of the old woman’s emotion shook her.

“Well, because of you, mages like your aunt can still look to the Circle for safety—as much as there is there,” and the genuine smile that added more lines to her face warmed Karida’s heart. She was not a frequent pupil of mine…but she had a daughter, correct? I don’t remember her name…”

The warmth dissipated like a candle being blown out. “Shianni,” Karida blurted. _Better we thought she died in a fever than know she was taken due to more human injustice._

“Yes, well, perhaps when this is all over, I could…try to arrange a secret meeting between Shianni and her mother. I know that for elven mages it is even more difficult to send messages, let alone see family members again.”

 _If Shianni’s still…if she’s not…_ Karida bit her lip and muttered before heading up more stairs. It was no good thinking about what _might_ be happening back home, what her family _might_ be suffering. And in the privacy of their room, Karida handed Morrigan the heavy black tome.

. “You have my thanks, Warden. And here, your compensation.” A vial swirling with dark blue liquid thick as syrup. After the terror of the sloth demon’s trap and the bizarre dreams that followed, Karida was more than happy to give this remedy a try. _Blissful, dreamless sleep…_

The taste of the potion was like the cup of the Joining—metallic, sulfuric—it made Karida want to gag the second she sipped it. But that night, she slept the best she had since before the wedding, with Dog warm on the soft blankets at her feet.

Leliana greeted her in the hall come morning. She stood tall and looked rosier than ever. Wynne’s magic was keeping her blood on the inside and had patched the wound from ever reopening. “I was just coming to find you—you slept through breakfast!”

It was almost noon, in fact. When Karida slept in at home, Shianni would usually wake her with the slam of a pillow in her face.

Thankfully, the elves in the kitchen let her raid the pastries of plump berry muffins and flaky biscuits, and cooked fat sausages for Dog, and they both ate till her stomach ached. The elves marveled at how she was a Warden and talking in equal terms with their masters, and Karida told them shyly how she’d been just a serving maid like them before all this. But she began to sweat at the thoughts of what happened in between, and how Morrigan seemed to _know_ everything, and she edged into the hall.

She found Alistair with Bann Teagan in the study, leaning over the treaties stamped with the bold grey griffon symbol. Alistair saw her in the doorway. “Oh, good morning! Or, I guess I should say afternoon. I…didn’t want to wake you earlier,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “You were sound asleep. And I was afraid Dog would bite me.”

Karida patted Dog’s head with a smile. “So what’s the plan?”

“Bann Teagan’s given me a lot of information about what he’s been trying to do for the Arl, if you—,” but a look from Teagan cut Alistair short. “Er, actually, we still need to finish discussing the details and uh….”

 _Strange…_ She bit her lip. “Oh. Ok. I guess I should…come back later?”

“Yeah. I mean, in the dining hall this evening—we’ll talk it over with all our companions.”

Teagan wasn’t letting Alistair talk. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she wandered down the hall. So what if she was an elf, she was a Grey Warden too! She had a right to know the plans, to help make them. _Why hadn’t Alistair said that?_ The question would only gnaw at her...

A walk down to the village would help, and give her time to really _think_ about everything—ever since Ostagar, it had been one thing after another and she’d been thrust into each new situation with nary a second for consideration. And some quiet time away from her constant companions would be welcome.

“Where are you off to?” Leliana asked, trotting to catch up.

Karida cleared her throat, “To clear my head.”

“Oh, may I join you? I think a walk would be good for my strength.”

With a sigh, Karida said, “If you really want to.” Leliana wondered if something was troubling her. _What isn’t?_ She couldn’t help her rolling eyes. _You’re just like—like Shianni,_ Karida’s heart softened… _always running her mouth._ “No, everything’s fine. How are you feeling?”

Leliana praised Wynne’s healing magic and was pleased the mage would join their travels, and then thanked Karida for her aid in the Circle. “I know I must have been a terrible burden.”

 _You’re being a terrible burden right now._ But Karida bit her tongue.

Bugs buzzed lazily among the pink flowers that gently swayed along the path. The villagers had been busy collecting the bodies of the undead, and black smoke plumed with a putrid smell from near the Chantry. Leliana drew closer to her then.

“I had been meaning to tell you…half-conscious as I was, I heard what that mage—your aunt— said to you before we left the Tower.” She reached for Karida’s wrist, and Karida stiffened nervously. “The name Adaia stood out to me. I had met an elven woman of that name many years ago when I was…imprisoned in Denerim.”

 _How—wait Leliana, in prison?_ Karida’s eyes met hers—pale blue like glass. “Adaia was my mother’s name.” She couldn’t stem her growing curiosity. _You and my mother were in the same prison?_ “She spoke of her escape once and…I remember she said a young human girl helped her.” _‘Girl barely older than you. Funny accent but had skill better than mine,’_ she’d said. A smile tugged at Karida’s mouth. “She said she’d have to toughen me up like that girl.”

Leliana chuckled, “That’s, oh, that’s incredible that she even spoke of me! The Maker surely made this world small.” Her laughter eased the tension tight in Karida’s throat. “But…what happened? Your aunt, she said Adaia was…”

Killed _._ Tension crept back along with a heavy guilt Karida had gotten used to forgetting. _Because a dumb little girl tried to play hero._ Leliana…she could trust her, not like… Karida thought of that tugging apprehension at Alistair… “When they arrested her again, I thought I could do something. Of course there was absolutely nothing a silly little kid could do but get herself hurt, and my mother, she fought back and well…they just killed her.” All Karida could do was shrug.

Leliana’s hand squeezed round Karida’s wrist before she intertwined her fingers with hers. Startled, Karida looked up into those glass eyes. “I’m sorry that happened, Karida. She was a strong woman. She would be glad to see how tough you are now.”

Cheeks flushing, Karida thanked her, and they walked on in blissful silence now with thoughts of family, and Karida regretted there hadn’t been time to tell her aunt more.

***

At dinner, Alistair told them all of his and Bann Teagan’s decision that in order to heal Arl Eamon and have his support, the Wardens would have to venture to the Frostback Mountains in search of the Ashes of Andraste, purported to heal any ailment.

Morrigan scoffed, “’Tis folly to waste our time on a fairytale.”

“Do you Wardens forget the Blight?”

With hands thrown up, Alistair said, “Of course not, Sten, but right now Arl Eamon is dying. We need to save him, not only for his voice in the Landsmeet but for command of Redcliffe’s forces. With that mage Jowan’s confession and the Arl’s verbal testament, we’ll make a legitimate case to have Loghain thrown out as regent—and, not to mention, he can help clear the Wardens’ name of murder!” But his eyes swerved to Karida momentarily. Dread crept up her neck. _Oh no. No, no, no._

“He’d be able to sway other Ferelden nobles to our cause and build an army capable to handle the Blight,” Leliana insisted. “Think of this as a…a detour.”

“Well, I for one hope such a relic isn’t guarded by magical horrors worse,” Zevran shuddered, “than what we fought at the Circle.”

“I thought that with your life forfeit, you wouldn’t care what killed you,” Alistair snapped.

“Oh, ‘twas a real ankle-biter, there Alistair.”

Green cloaked shoulders shrugged. “Without me, we’d not have made it out the Tower.”

Before Alistair’s retort, Bann Teagan said, “And you, Warden Karida? Do you object?”

Surprised a shem lord would deign to stoop for an elf’s opinion, she lifted her head under his suspicious gaze with hardened eyes. “If Alistair thinks this the right course, I’ll not argue.”

“It’s settled then. You should leave on the morrow. Supplies and fresh horses will be prepared. Haven is a long ride from here.”

***

Pages rustled like dry old leaves. The only light guttered from a candle on the desk. Karida lay staring at the ceiling, frustrated she’d not had the time to think as she wanted on this day off, and frustrated with Alistair and that shem lord. _What must he have told Alistair?_ Further, it was curiosity about the witch, and maybe a little guilt, that drove Karida to rise from her warm bed.

 _Talking with Leliana hadn’t been so hard_. And it’d made Karida feel better. Maybe talking with Morrigan would put her at ease with…the things she knew. “I, uh, wanted to tell you that I…regretted not having you there in the Circle.” She fixed her gaze on the bookcase behind Morrigan. “I’m sorry we made you stay behind.”

“Well forgive me if I do not leap at your eloquent request for forgiveness like a dog.”

“Look, it made sense at the time,” Karida sighed as she lowered herself into a chair. “I had no idea what abominations or demons really were.”

“That does explain much…”

“If you hadn’t noticed yet, I’m no valiant Grey Warden. I don’t know what your mother was thinking in saving me over someone with more, I dunno,” she threw up her hands, “experience?”

“So why were you conscripted?”

“Because—“ Karida shut her mouth. She could feel the warm wood of the headsman’s block against her cheek. “Duncan was looking for my mother.”

Dark eyebrows rose as a page turned. “Why would he be doing that?”

“I don’t…really know. She never spoke of him.” _She never mentioned Leliana, either._ “But, well, she travelled a lot before settling in the Alienage.”

“I’ve heard you mention this…Alienage, before.”

Triumphant as Alistair, Karida grinned. Something even _Morrigan_ didn’t know about? She elaborated on the discrimination of elven-kind in Denerim, and how they were crammed into one stinking corner of the city clinging to the ever-shriveling remnants of old elven ways. Morrigan then pointed to a word from the black book and Karida shook her head.

“You do not know the language of your people?”

“I’m lucky I can read Fereldan at all.” That she had old Flynt to thank for mostly. Once her mother died, he continued her reading and writing education since her father knew only how to read—poorly at that. Couldn’t have an illiterate thief working for him… “How’d you learn Elvish?”

“My mother taught me, as in most things I know.”

“Could you teach me?”

Morrigan’s eyes rose fully from the page. “You would wish me to…school you?”

Karida shrugged again, feeling not so edgy now. Her feelings of distrust might have been too hastily misplaced… She told Morrigan of her desire to join the Dalish and learn their ways, but family always kept her rooted. Not to mention, Karida had never been in the wilderness before only a month or so ago.

Shocked, Morrigan told of her contrary rearing among beasts and forests of the Kokari Wilds. Those spells fascinated Karida—none of the Circle mages had done what Morrigan could do, and the witch spoke haughtily of the traditions of magic outside their scope that the Chantry would uproot if it could. _How useful to become animal at will, especially something so small like a mouse_.

“It is good you do not consider me some abomination to be put to the torch. Far more practical an opinion than any _man_ I’ve spoken to.” Morrigan sighed.

Speaking of the Circle reminded Karida to relay what unfolded there with the strangeness and the Fade and the demons. “They would have fled at my approach,” Morrigan sighed wistfully. “But, as it is, the child is saved and we have a pledge of aid from the Circle. Look, the candle is almost out and we’ve a fairytale to chase on the morn. You say we must help this Arl, so search and help we must do.”

***

Fresh horses they were given that morning, but enough only for six companions.

Zevran leaned back from the tack stand. “You are welcome to ride with me, fair Warden.”

Karida made a face to cover the heat rising in her cheeks and told him not to call her that. Leliana winked and whispered, “You can ride with me. The two of us together shouldn’t weigh the horse down more than a single man.”

Morrigan remained standing, and Alistair balked at the notion of her sharing his horse.

“Fear not, brave Warden, for I shall fly above to watch for danger.”

Wynne muttered, “…malificar,” under her breath, and Morrigan snapped that the older woman was merely jealous the Circle didn’t allow such useful magic. She then lifted her ragged black skirt round herself, and vanished in a cloud of purple smoke. Only black feathers fell in her wake. Karida watched in wonder at the crow she had become ascend cawing into the sky.

To say Karida was glad to be back on the road would be a lie. An endless train of wretched refugees trudged the Highway, pursued not only by darkspawn corruption from the south but the merciless highwaymen who drained their pockets. The Wardens thought it best the travel off-road, to avoid traffic and gold-hungry eyes.

That night, the snowcapped peaks of the Frostbacks rose high above the pine trees surrounding their camp. They were so _lucky_ it was Alistair’s turn to cook.

“We do things right here. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey.” Leliana’s lip curled as she peered cautiously under the lid.

“Don’t listen to him; not everyone in Ferelden’s that hopeless.” Before Alistair could retort, Leliana wanted to know what spices Karida preferred. “Uh, I mean, salt and…pepper?”

“That’s the problem with you Ferelden-ers. You lack flavor. Have you tasted anise? Tarragon?”

Being a serving maid in a shemlen lord’s estate allowed Karida little access to precious spices, and she wondered what anise was. Excited for colorful food, Leliana’s thoughts turned to Orlais where she’d been born and raised, even though her mother was Ferelden. It was a warm and green country where women wore sometimes ludicrous fashions that had Karida snickering at images of ladies with birdcages for hats and bird excrement on their shoulders. “But it was worth it for the shoes. My favorite was a pair made of gold satin, with delicate blue embroidery. Much prettier than these ugly fur things.” Leliana stuck out a leg to scowl at her mud-caked boot.

Karida raised her chin, scowling, “Hey, these ugly things are a lot more practical.

“Oh, I know. But,” she rocked her foot from side to side, “they _could_ be made to look nice as well.”

“Stick a ribbon on it and tell me what compliments the darkspawn give you,” Alistair butted in as he added more wood to the fire.

“Away with you,” Leliana shooed. “We women are having a tête-à-tête.” She spoke so fondly of her home, with its beautiful verdant gardens and the sweet, ever-present sound of the Chant from the Great Cathedral, that Karida wondered why she chose to leave it all for a life of muddy boots. 


	13. Pilgrims on a Long Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Andraste, by Andraste, by Andraste! It's you!

The days seemed shorter and the nights grew colder, and snow began to fall come dawn. Karida’s mare snorted a cloud of condensation into the frosty air while she shook her solid canteen upside down over her hand.

When Morrigan felt like it, she taught Karida some of the elvish words from her mother’s spellbook. And her potion was true in keeping Karida’s nightmares at bay, though she grew hard to rouse and then one morning she found herself running to the trees. Black bile oozed in the glistening white snow.

“Is vomiting a…side effect?” Karida shivered under her cloak as snow fell in a soft, light haze.

“Mayhaps. Or maybe ‘tis the Taint. You have been reacting to it oddly.”

Karida held her grumbling stomach, watching Alistair bite into a green apple. _He never seems sick from Taint._ Maybe if she ate only a little she wouldn’t throw it up…

Later, Morrigan flew down to tell of a village to the north. “Haven, I take it?”

“Should be,” said Alistair through a mouthful of bread.

“Well I do hope you are right, oh wise strategist guiding our party.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault this place isn’t even on a proper map!”

Back on their horses they went, this time Morrigan in human form riding with Zevran. “Hands to yourself, assassin, or you won’t like what I’ll do to them.”

“Oh? Try me,” Zevran flashed his teeth at her. “You’ll find I have very…peculiar tastes.”

Conversation faltered during their trudge up the pass and Karida remembered Bann Teagen’s warning. A Brother Genetivi was also in search of the Ashes, but Teagan’s knights found his apprentice dead in his home and an imposter posing as him, and a journal detailing where the real man had gone. Knowing that, the party chose to tie their horses out of sight and carry on on foot until they were questioned at the gate. Few visitors ventured this far into the mountains. Alistair told how they just needed to resupply, and the guards allowed them through but didn’t encourage them to stay the night.

Dark houses dotted the grey slope. No light shone in any window. “It’s too quiet,” Leliana murmured. Dog’s paws left massive prints in the freshly falling powder.

They found no danger in the town’s only shop, just extremely…off-putting shems, and one child ogled Karida like he’d never seen an elf before. _Just look outside at Sten…_

“Obviously, they’re hiding something,” dismissed Morrigan. “Voices sing beyond the river. I have a wonder, Leliana, if this town really is so pious that the whole of their population is at service.”

The bard huffed before leading the way over the rope bridge that spanned a gorge through which a loudly rushing river roared, drowning out what did sound like the whole village in the Chantry.

“Just a thought, but perhaps we shouldn’t all just barge in? Seems like they are expecting trouble,” Zevran pointed out. “If only a couple investigate stealthily…”

“You can go in and have a look by yourself, how about?” Alistair snapped, blowing into his gloved hands. Leliana suggested gentler that he come with her and Karida, to slip through the Chantry’s locked side entrance.

Dusty old tomes were stacked loosely against all the walls save one where hung a heavy green curtain that separated this alcove from the rest of the Chantry. At least thirty townsfolk were gathered on the pews, listening to a Chanter—“A man?” Leliana whispered in confusion. Zevran then remarked about the body on the altar, wondering who the unlucky soul was that had been sacrificed.

They soon discerned he’d been a ‘false Brother of the Chantry.’ _There’s out lost Genetivi…_ The Chanter went on to speak of evil strangers poking their noses into their mountains, those who did not believe in the true ‘Risen One’, and how such people were in the village at this very moment. “They know not the power hidden here on the mountaintop, nor the relics kept dear.” He urged the people to return outside and make sacrifice of these nonbelievers too. Karida’s eyes narrowed on the silver chain round the man’s neck.

“Oh, I see. While the Crows have some such ritualistic sacrifice practices, I do not think they are carried out quite so publicly,” Zevran observed in that lighthearted tone of his. _How you can sound so flippant in the face of this danger…_

When the parishioners began to rise, the Chanter made his way alone for the curtain. The three rogues pulled away and Karida hissed, “We take him by surprise and take that medallion,” and when the curtain moved, Zevran snatched the man’s arm and covered his mouth. Leliana’s hand came swift in slipping the chain from his neck before Zevran’s knife sliced his throat silently. Karida had not even moved a step when this all occurred, and she looked between the two in amazement as Leliana handed her the medallion.

“Ah, it is like old times, working with other Crows for a mission.” Zevran smiled as he lay the body down. Karida bent to check the man’s pockets for a few coins. _Much easier when they’re dead…_ “Except, you are both more fair and—“

“Not the time, Zevran,” Leliana shushed and the three hurried out the door to where the rest of their party hid in the trees.

“Well, now the whole village will be out looking for us.” Karida relayed all they witnessed. So the party lingered no longer but headed up the steep path for the mountain’s peak. Trees grew thin and the wind nipped sharper and Karida turned up the fur collar of her hood with fingers frozen in her gloves.

At least her inkling to take the medallion had been just. They came upon a structure rising from the mountainside itself, with a broken steeple that disappeared into the grey snow clouds above, and the great wooden door could only be opened by inserting the medallion into the circular lock.

“We’ll see what ‘hidden power’ lurks here,” Wynne said tersely.

Karida’s spirits rose to finally be inside and free of the gathering storm. Even Sten, who had been unusually stonily silent, set his shoulders straight from hunching against the bitter wind. Tall columns glistening with icicle stretched high up into the vaulted, broken ceiling through which stray snowflakes drifted like dust motes in a sunbeam. A forlorn empty ruin, faded from memory—something out of Leliana’s tales…

The bard herself would’ve lingered longer to study the carvings on the walls atop the icy dais, which told the story of Andraste’s trials and execution. Inscriptions in the altar room gave way to bare rock as they entered a long tunnel through which they came into a wide grotto that split the path.

“Don’t you think it might be best if we split as well?” Wynne asked. “We should cover more ground in less time with this whole village on alert.”

Alistair nodded his agreement. Sooner or later they would wonder where the wanderers had wandered... “Hopefully one of us will have found the Ashes by then.” Karida chewed the inside of her cheek, considering one opening and then the other. “As Wardens, you and I should lead each group,” she liked that even less, “and we’ll meet back here in an hour, empty-handed or not. Ok?”

 _No_. But, reluctantly, Karida said, “Alright.” Alistair enlisted Morrigan and Leliana with him.

“Oh? Are you finally beginning to trust me, Alistair? No longer fearful I shall turn you into a toad?”

“I guess Wynne and Sten, you’ll come with me, and Dog of course.” Karida’s eyes flicked to Zevran.

“Does no one want me? Ah, well, I suppose I could stand watch here at the fork.”

“No, you’ll be much more use with us,” Morrigan said.

Black tattoos wrinkled on his cheeks as he grinned. “Well if it’s with you, I will gladly follow.”

Alistair sighed through his teeth. “See you in an hour.”

Dread prickled chilly needle points down Karida’s back as he disappeared into one gaping tunnel mouth. This would be the first time she ventured forth without him. With a swallow meant to steel her nerves, she led the way into the second maw. Sten’s torch and Wynne’s blue mage-light illuminated the way.

Crates stacked between stalagmites and bedrolls in one corner of a wide cavern told of people living here, yet they found no one. The further they delved, though, the more they found strange marks in the walls as if made by claws. Karida’s pace slackened, and Sten shouldered past her.

“Interesting strategy. Tell me: do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the Archdemon from the rear?”

Karida blinked at the huge man before her, completely caught off guard, and stopped herself from looking round to a non-existent Alistair for help. “I, uh, think he’ll never see this coming.”

His heavy white brows knitted. “Truly, it would surprise me if my enemy counter-attacked by turning tail and climbing a mountain to find the remnants of a dead woman.”

“Sten, correct?” Wynne had such a soothing voice that calmed Karida’s jumping anxiety. “It has been explained that this quest is necessary to heal the Arl—“

“And one man’s life is more important than the Blight?” Sten’s lip twitched up to revel gritted teeth. Dog barred his own in return. “Your hound is a fiercer warrior than you. I believe you have not thought this through. We are killing no birds with this stone.”

Karida swallowed, groping for a tone of authority to stand up to him. “Look, as Grey Warden, I say we are making progress against the Blight by getting these Ashes, and that’s final.”

She could hear his teeth grind together as he let her walk past him. Cold sweat broke across her brow and she let out a shaky breath, casting her eyes over her shoulder. His yielding would not last for much longer. It seemed Zevran wasn’t the only one she should watch out for behind her back…

They continued on in a palpably uncomfortable silence until the sound of water gushing pricked Karida’s ears. They found their way into a huge cavern dripping with stalactites, and they walked alongside the edge of a dark chasm towards the grey light of the setting sun in an opening ahead.

But the cave mouth darkened when figures emerged—men in heavy hides wielding staves and led by a man with the cowl of a bear’s head.

“You will go no further!”

The force of his voice sent Karida stepping back between her companions, holding her breath.

“You will tell me now, intruders, why you have come here.”

“We come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” Wynne raised her chin, “to heal a suffering man, at the behest of the Grey Wardens.”

The man laughed. “You came all this way for an ancient relic?” He rambled on about how Andraste had overcome death and returned to her faithful in some more radiant form, and his voice rose in passion.

Wynne stared in disbelief. “Andraste is dead, you know that. Where are her Ashes?” But the man only raved of their risen god, and Wynne said flatly to Karida that he was beyond reasoning.

“And delusional,” grunted Sten.

That did it—the man threw up his arms. “You know nothing, abomination! Andraste revealed herself to us. We are her Chosen. Men, to arms! We will show them Her true glory!”

Karida’s fingers fumbled for her bow, the arrow shaking against the string. Dog tackled the man who ran at her. _Only four of us against six!_ Sten seemed far less worried, his greatsword singing throughout the cavern. _If only I can be half as brave…_

Her arrow halted in midflight before the mage she’d aimed for, and it turned back around at her. Karida dove to the side, slinging her bow over her shoulder. _Fine, sword then._ Wynne was shouting, and the ground beneath the second mage was glowing, immobilizing him—but Karida missed what happened next for now their leader charged her with his shield. Flying back with a yelp, pinned between him and a stalagmite, Karida struggled to wrench her blade from its scabbard.

“Stand down!” the man snarled.

“Never!” She managed to kick him back with both legs and slip away to dart behind, slashing at his back. But her steel merely glanced off his shield as he turned. So she ducked to swipe at his knee and he swung around cursing. Sword gleaming red, Karida leapt back, and met his roaring sword fall with her shield. Her shoulder seared at the impact and her arm fell, his weight pushing against her. Panic rose with a glance behind—he was driving her to the ledge! Eyes wide, she smashed a smoke bomb against his bear cowl and went to skirt around him just when his shield slammed through the smoke into her chest, knocking her breathless to the ground. She thrust her buckler up in time to catch his downward blade, sweat pooling in a puddle behind her ears in her helmet—which, when she leaned her head back, found no ground beneath!

“ _Yield_!”

Dog began baying loudly as Karida pushed with trembling arms both sword and shield against the man’s. His blade slid closer and closer, and with jaw clenched she managed one final heave—yet, his strength was more, and his sword slammed down against her buckler, jarring her wrist so hard her grip loosened and her shield flew out into the chasm. Karida gasped at the awful, splintering twang in her forearm, unable to fight any longer when the man wrested her sword from her other hand. 

“Cease fighting!” he yelled, wrenching her up hissing by her collar. The wool of her tunic ripped ever so quietly—it hurt immensely to tighten the fingers of her left arm but she grasped his wrist, gasping, her feet dangling over nothing. Dog snarled low before the man. “Call the beast off, or I will throw her!” The river roared dimly below. Sten spat something in Qunari while Wynne stood in stunned silence, staff still raised.

Karida shakily called for Dog to back down before the men took their weapons. “They will be judged before Andraste, and will be found wanting.” She was swung round to the ground and shoved after her companions, Dog under her unhurt hand. The other she clutched to her chest, and tried hard not to meet Sten’s furious gaze.

If she could slip her dagger through one man’s throat just as she dropped a grenade, and Dog got another, then they might—but a sudden ear-splitting bellow shook the very rock beneath their feet.

“Behold.”

They were thrust out into the blinding sunset.

“Andraste, reborn!”

Karida’s jaw dropped at the enormous shadow. _A d-dragon?! How­­_ \--she glanced to Wynne— _if only Alistair were here! Was this the Archdemon?!_ But no darkspawn lurked in this vale where the snow was melting atop countless steaming pools. Karida’s ears rang when a gong was suddenly struck and the dragon screeched in response.

A hand held her shoulder. She turned—just as her stomach dropped so suddenly she didn’t realize she was falling until she crashed flat on her belly. Wheezing in the effort to lift herself up, she heard Dog bark frantically from above before whining, then a loud THUD smashed beside her. Yellow dust clouded up around where Sten stood, and he caught Wynne when the fanatics pushed her—an _old_ woman!—over the edge.

“Wait!” Wynne cried, hands over her mouth. “Don’t do this!” But the cultists turned out of sight, and the dragon roared again. Pepped vibrated underfoot. Karida covered her ears—realizing then Dog wasn’t near. Had they killed him?! No time to wonder, however, as she looked up in cold clammy horror at the enormous creature swooping to perch on the boulder before them.

She scrambled after Wynne and Sten behind a rock shelf just as a swell of fire scorched where they’d just been. Heat knocked Karida yelping into Sten as flames licked her boots and she kicked her heels in the yellow dust.

“MOVE!” Sten bellowed, hauling Wynne up.

Karida’s thrashed to unsling her bow, shouting through the throbbing of her wrist. The dragon lumber atop the boulders. _Of all times to lose my shield!_ Its purple scales rippled as its great toothy maw opened and writhing flames boiled up its throat—her puny arrow caught fire in the ensuing heat—when suddenly that throat shot up, roaring into the sky.

Immediately she scurried out of sight while the beast reared on Sten, its enormous wings flaring out and scraping the mountainside, raining rocks over where Karida ran. None of them were hardly armed and her arm might just be shattered— _how can we hope to fight this?! We’ve just got to run!_

She grasped desperately for a plan as well as for handholds, screaming through the effort, to the top of a tall boulder. Her arrows pierced the dragon’s wings but did not detract its attention from Wynne. Instead, it wheeled on Sten when he slammed a huge rock into its leg. It snapped after him with head low to the ground. Karida gasped at a though, and quickly followed after it atop the rocks, reaching round in her belt for the right grenade. The dragon had Sten cornered beneath an outcropping, and steam rose from its nostrils as it raised its head like a snake. Karida backed up and took a deep, shaky inhale before sprinting off the top of Sten’s hiding recess—soaring out above the dragon’s head so she could hurl the bomb down. BANG it exploded in lime-green goo splattering scorching across its scaly snout. The beast flung its head up and fire spat into the sky, but Karida could watch no more for the soon the ground grew close and she crashed yelling, tumbling head over heels smashing into the lip of on sulfur pool.

Stars spun before her eyes, voices shouted—Sten’s in Qunari, Alistair’s in profanity— _Alistair?_ Karida lifted her throbbing head to see familiar, hazy figures up on the ledge by the gong. Green feathered arrows buzzed with lightning and purple bolts blazed at the dragon. And Dog was barking furiously.

She hadn’t even noticed Wynne beside her, Karida’s vambrace in her hands. “A foolish but effective stunt, paid for by your skull. Did you know this was broken?” Karida balked, almost vomiting, and barked when the old woman’s hands moved the bones of her left wrist back against each other, just before the most wonderful, cooling feeling pulsed through her forearm that went all the way to her head, driving away the throbbing pain and hot, dizzying headache.”We should retreat soon. I fear we are no match for this beast.”

Renewed through her exhaustion, Karida bounced to her feet and surveyed their boiling surroundings. There, across the pits shimmered a doorway in the mountainside.

Karida hollered for her companions as loud as she could. The enraged dragon spun so its tail shattered the ledge where Leliana lost her balance and fell, yet Morrigan turned into a crow in time and rushed forth to peck the beast’s eyes. Karida led the race across the narrow uneven path between bubbling craters as the dragon took flight unsteadily. Bouts of flame landed in the pools, spewing sputtering sizzling sulfur that spattered their trail.

With her head ducked under a gauntleted arm, Karida pushed hard with her good shoulder against the heavy doors while the dragon gave blind chase, and it only budged when Alistair slammed into it beside her. They herded everyone inside, flames licking at their heels, and together they all shoved the stone doors shut in time for fire to exploded against the rock outside.


	14. The Curse of Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dog is the only pure-hearted one here.

Morrigan’s staff tapped the floor, bathing the dark interior in a pinkish light. Wynne followed suit with the staff Leliana handed her while Dog rubbed his cheek against Karida’s hand. The smell of burned hair soared over any other.

“Wh-hew!” Alistair bent panting with his hands on his knees. “If the Archdemon’s really a _dragon_ , I don’t know how in the black hells we’re going to beat it!”

“And that is where we should be, not simply following in your shadow as you run from battle.” Sten had his greatsword back, and his fingers flexed on its hilt. Karida held his piercing violet gaze. _Shit, not_ now _, Sten!_ “And it is because of you that the dragon was brought down upon us, because you, a so-called Grey Warden, could not defeat their leader. You are unfit to lead.”

“Whoa, Sten!” Alistair yelled, “Hold up, she didn’t make the decision to come here—it was me!”

“It was she who released me from my cage so I would find redemption fighting the Blight. But we have yet to make a move against it. The only reason I did not let their leader strike you down was so I would have the chance to do it myself. Draw your blade.”

Panic squeezed its fist around her heart. Of course, telling Sten her wrist was broken would win her no pity from him. Zevran held out Karida’s sword to her with a glance to the darkness beyond them. “My tall fellow, if you hadn’t noticed, we aren’t in the best place for trial-by-combat. Perhaps some other time?” At Sten’s growl, he shrugged. “Ah, if there is no swaying you,” Zevran mock-saluted Karida, “then good luck, Warden.”

Lightning flashed in her mind’s eye, and she saw Sten kneeling in the rain—a faded memory from a dream. _‘They did not have my sword.’_ The leather of her sword hilt was slick with sweat in her palms while Karida stood waiting for Morrigan to try her hand at dissuading the Qunari. But he couldn’t be—that’s how his people were. His Qun demanded challenge; either she refused and Sten outright killed her like that family in Lothering, or they’d lose him entirely. Yet, they needed him. He was the strongest of their group.

“I accept, Sten.” _I have to, no matter how absurd. Or if I’m as outmatched at those dead framers._

Her companions shouted—“Karida, you can’t be serious!”

“Sten, this is madness,” Wynne said.

“No.” He raised his blade, “This is honor,” and he swung.

Karida dodged quick, and told Dog to back down when he jumped snarling. _Poor confused beast_. She made a jab at Sten’s back—she didn’t want to hurt him even if he intended death for her. If somehow she did win (and she would use any deception she could) and knock some sense into that thick head of his, he would be bound by his honor to continue following. _You’d think he’d be dead tired after fighting a dragon, but oh no—_ he moved faster than she’d anticipated, and knocked her off-balance with a barely evaded thrust. She felt naked without her shield, and her left wrist throbbed dully in its splint of her bracer. Karida jolted at the loud CLANG of their metal meeting, just before she flew back into the wall.

Wynne scurried out the way, taking the blue light with her and leaving the two engaged in its ghostly perimeter. Sten’s blade thrust at her head. Karida lurched out into the darkness. She felt weightless, too, without her shield, and faster. She feigned a swipe at his leg only to leap back from his overhead swing, giving her time to throw down a frost bomb in hopes of freezing his foot. He only slipped across a path of ice. “Trickery does not give you an honest victory!”

 _Fuck honor!_ She darted up to thwack his shoulder before twisting just as he turned fast, his big armored elbow slamming into her cheek. Karida reeled back, moaning, blood trickling down her throat, her tongue checking a loose tooth—and she threw herself to the side as his sword came rushing at her eyes, this time catching in the groove it loudly scored into the stone. Cursing as he tried to jerk it free, Karida leapt dizzy at her chance. She kicked him hard in the gut and drove her sword pommel into his wrist before sliding her knife under his chin hard enough to draw blood.

With a snarl he shouldered her away to the ground, and struggled still to dislodge his blade. By the time he turned to charge her, Karida slipped another grenade from her belt and lobbed it at his feet before covering her head from the descending slash—yet, he skidded over the grease and rammed into a column, where he fell forward from the impact. She stamped with all her weight down on his hand still grasping his sword, just as her dagger found his throat again.

“Are you done trying to kill me?” Karida asked in a breathless gasp.

She felt the growl grow up his throat. “There is no honor in you. You rely too much on tools and deception.”

“I’m a Grey Warden; my job’s to kill darkspawn. Nobody said I had to fight fair.”

“You are not deserving of that title.”

“Then go through the Joining and become one yourself,” snapped Wynne. “End this squabble!”

“It is against the Qun for me to change my place. And you are out of yours.” If Sten could scorch her with his glare, Kardia was certain he would do so in a heartbeat.

And Maker, was her heartbeat banging so hard in her chest she felt it might burst through. “Sten, I let you out that cage to help us, not fight against us. You’re wasting time.” She stepped back. “So just get back in line.” Outside, the blind dragon still raged. “We have an objective to complete that _will_ aid us in the Blight, whether you believe so or not.”

She clutched both knife and sword anxiously, painfully, half-expected him to turn on her when he rose. But he merely sheathed his blade and said not a word. And Karida released the breath she realized she was holding.

“Now that’s settled,” Alistair came between them then and turned to her. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

But it wasn’t, Karida could feel that much from Sten. It would only be a matter of time before he lost patience again. _Maybe he’ll team up with Zevran…_

Mages brought the light and they found carvings on the walls again, as before in the temple before the bare caves took over. Leliana said that these depicted Andraste in her conquest against the Tevinter Imperium, then her death at the stake.

The air lifted as they came into a wide room, with oil vats wavering in the outer-edges of mage-light. Morrigan spoke a word that set the viscous liquid ablaze, flaring along the walls to illuminate the tall columns and the intricately engraved door, where, a figure materialized as a ghost in the blue glow—halting Karida in her tracks beside Alistair.

“I am the guardian of the Ashes. Come forward, those who would enter this sacred place. My duty, my life, is to protect the Urn, and prepare the way for the faithful.”

Alistair shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief, and he asked if not the Haven villagers came here. The man, or spirit, explained that for centuries he had been sentinel to Andraste’s resting place, but the other disciples lost their way, forgetting their promise to Her and falling prey to heresy

Leliana nodded as she listened. “Before this place fell from memory, many sought the Urn for pilgrimage. I did not truly believe this place still existed…”

This spirit was bound to remain until the fall of the Tevinter Imerium. “But you are here now, and have come to honor Her, if you prove yourselves worthy.” His silver winged helm shone in the firelight when he looked to the door. “Yet, it is not my place to decide, but the Gauntlet’s.” _How many more trials to go?_ The further along on this quest they went, the more Karida found she agreed with Sten’s sentiment that this _was_ all a waste of time… “If you are not allowed to pass…”

“We don’t want to find out, got it,” Alistair said, and when he tried to move around the spirit something…strange happened. The air shimmered as it had when the Guardian first appeared, and Alistair stood frozen. Silence smothered the room like a thick wool blanket; even the flames on the oil seemed to still. Karida turned as voices filled her ears, sounding so distant yet no one was speaking.

“ _Before you go Alistair…all must answer my questions, Daughter of Flemeth…Antivan elf… do you doubt…died at your hands…failed your people by…afraid you would fade…are the wisdoms you spout just reflect…any you regret more than a woman…the Maker spoke only to Andraste… if you should have died, and not Dun…_ By the time you reached your cousin Shianni—“

Karida spun sharply to face the spirit— _what is happening?!_ The shimmering air was too bright, almost blue with glistening snowflakes. _Wait—_ he was looking at her, his lips were moving. “She was brutalized and violated; it was too late.” Her mouth hung open. “Tell me Karida: did you fail her?”

She stammered, “H-how do you know this?” Sten’s voice made her whip about fast—his mouth wasn’t moving. And neither was Wynne’s. But she could _hear_ them!

“ _I have never denied my failings… It is a fool who does not doubt… You think I did it for the attention?!...Everything would be better. If I just had the chance, maybe… Yes, the answer is yes!...I am not my mother, spirit, and you will do well… _Many things are known to me. The question stands, however.”

“I—“ _‘I won’t let them hurt you, Shianni!’_ The spirit blurred through Karida’s watery eyelashes, and she remembered suddenly the cold resentment in Shianni’s eyes during her Fade dream. Her head dropped, and she whispered, “Of course I did.” A tear rolled down her bruised, bloody nose. “It was all my fault.”

_“There is nothing more to ask…”_

She raised her head, squinting as the light shone brighter from the Guardian, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

_“The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”_

The door was gone too. Karida wiped her nose while Alistair stared at her.

“It…was a test, I believe,” Wynne hesitated. “To make sure we’re ready for what’s ahead.”

“Typical of the faith,” Morrigan sniffed. “Dig into one’s past and make them feel guilty for it.”

“Feeling guilt about things one can change no longer seems very time consuming,” Zevran grumbled, scowling at the ground, “with little gain.”

Alistair held his brow. “Let’s…just keep moving.

_“Karida.”_

Karida stopped in the doorway behind him, looking up wide-eyed. Shianni stood there.

She reached out to take Karida’s hands in hers with a smile, and said she was alright, that Father was well. _“We’re counting on you, sister. Remember why you’re really out here.”_

Shianni’s palm slipped away. Karida uncurled her fingers, revealing a large dark green leaf from the vhenadhal. It felt stiff and strong, and Karida remembered many a time climbing among such leaves.

“Karida?”

She blinked, her eyes moving up to Alistair there where Shianni had been. “Come on.” Karida stowed the leaf in her pocket before following around the corner—and walking right into his back. “Who are _they_?!”

It was like looking in a mirror: there stood a group identical to them with a duplicate Alistair, Leliana, Dog, and the rest. “I don’t know but it’s really weird.” Karida’s hands flew over her mouth just as she caught the echo of her own voice from her doppelganger.

Alistair leaned over, “You’re telling me. Creepy.”

Zevran leapt to the side and his twin did the same. “This would be trial number one, I presume?”

Morrigan brushed through them all. “I am already weary of these games. Begone spirits!” She cast a spell at her double, who cast the same magic back. Both created a shield of light to block.

“Great, just what we need— _two_ Morrigans.”

“ _Alistair_.”

Sten marched right up to the other Sten, locking swords. And suddenly, all the others drew their weapons. “Oh, look what you’ve done!” Alistair whined, “Now they’re angry!”

Karida approached her twin dubiously. Something seemed…off about her—her eyes had no amber irises like her own. They were all black, like a—“Darkspawn!” Other Karida lunged with an unnatural shriek, green-black skin blotching through her pallor as the real Karida pushed her back.

“Am I really this ugly?” Alistair’s double, a furious half-Hurlock monster, pummeled him with his own charred shield.

She turned in time to dodge Other Karida’s low kick, and she thrust forward with her sword just as the Other did the same. Both spun around only to meet blades once more. Everything she did was mimicked—right down to her double clutching its left wrist to its chest.

“This isn’t working!” Grunting, Karida kicked her opponent away. None of her companions fared any better. Dog tumbled yapping with his littermate while Morrigan and Morrigan exchanged blows as giant spiders. Karida’s eyes narrowed as she exchanged looks with her twin. “I can’t fight me.” Then she shouted, “Don’t fight yourself! It’s impossible—fight someone else!” And she threw herself into Other Alistair, knocking him down. The real Alistair cried out in surprise just as her blade thrust into its neck. “Fight me!”

She turned—Other Zevran’s sword barely grazed the tip of her nose when she leapt back into the real one. “Didn’t think we’d be dueling so soon, Warden.” The darkspawn assassin danced around her with sword poised shoulder-high, striking snake-fast and jarring Karida when she tried to block. Real Zevran slipped between them in time to parry with a twirling flurry of blades. She watched with wide eyes at how _fast_ he moved. Yet, there was no time to linger, for she found herself pitted against Sten again—well, the _Other_ Sten.

When the last darkspawn-double fell, all their bodies trickled away as dust swept by a breeze.

Alistair shivered as he led the way out of the room. “Is any of this real…?”

“’Tis odd to me that a temple oft visited by simple pilgrims would have such a violent trial.”

Leliana piped up, “Andraste was no mere lay Sister. She was a warrior, a champion against Tevinter! This Guantlet is meant to test you as she was tested.”

“Many must have died upon entering this place alone, then,” replied Morrigan, unmoved.

“These trials are likely different for each pilgrim who comes,” Wynne offered cooly.

“A convenient coincidence.”

While the next two trials presented no combat, they were no less challenging. Mages figured out the puzzle of the strange incorporeal bridge spanning a wide chasm that made Karida’s head spin, while Leliana and Alistair’s knowledge of the Chantry was no match for the ghosts’ riddles. The door to the Ashes was opened to them.

The tallest effigy of Andraste Karida had ever seen stood upon a dais across the room, and at her feet nestles a golden urn.

“I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will not forget this feeling,” Wynne said, her voice unsteady with awe. “Does this holy place not make you question your life choices, Zevran?”

“Hm? Oh, truly. I regret it all. May I lay my head on your bosom? I think I may cry.”

Wynne scowled as they crossed to the chamber’s center, where suddenly flames burst from the floor and blocked the way. Leliana bent to read the inscription on the podium before the fire. “ _’Cast of the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar: be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’_ Hm, ‘goodness of spirit’?”

Alistair scratched his scalp beneath his helm. “So do we have to…give money to charity?”

Yellow eyes rolled, “More Chantry absurdity.”

“I think it means we must remove our armaments and armor,” Wynne said, quoting the first phrase. “It must be allegory for Andraste’s burning.”

“Seems almost too simple,” Zevran said doubtfully as Leliana shrugged off her bow and quiver, and Wynne laid down her staff to approach the flames.

She recoiled with a hiss. “I do not understand. I thought this would work.”

“It’s because we have to remove everything.” Zevran suppressed laughter as Dog trotted unharmed into the fire. “’Born anew’. Like the brave mongrel, we were not born with clothes on.” Karida watched Dog helplessly, and Zevran smirked. “Yes, my fair Warden,” he unbuckled his leather chest armor, “we have to get _naked_ if we wish to cross the flames and get the Ashes.”

“While I dislike the concept, I believe you’re right,” Wynne sighed. “But—you can test it first.”

He bowed at her while undoing his trousers. “I assure you won’t oppose the sights.”

“Uh,” Karida clutched her cloak tight to her throat, looking between a red-faced Alistair and giggling Leliana.

“Don’t be shy. I am unharmed!” Zevran stood amidst the flames, hands on his hips, his backside bare to them all—Karida quickly turned her head, cheeks blazing. “Surely you, Sten, aren’t bashful?”

“Maker… Well,” Alistair sighed, “let’s get this over with…”

“Maybe it’ll work if only one of us crosses,” Karida said rapidly.

Zevran was whistling. “It’s true Wynne, I am terrible, and now I…I feel so confused. Oh, did I tell you I was an orphan? I never knew my mother.”

“Egad, you are impossible. Eyes up here, _please_!”

“I know it’s meant to be reverent, but this is all so silly.” Leliana couldn’t contain her laughter.

“ _Yes,_ making people walk into fire without even their smallclothes on ‘tis a bit ‘silly’”.

Karida stepped back, her eyes flicking to Alistair’s bare shoulders. “I—I’ll wait here.”

“’Twill likely backfire if we do not all go, Warden.”

“Then walk beside me, please,” Karida pleaded, a little too loudly, while Morrigan considered. She could feel Leliana and Alistair glance her way.

“If you believe it will help.”

Karida nodded excessively , and used the witch for cover as she unlaced her shift with clumsy fingers. _One breath at a time…_ “Turn your eyes away, Alistair, or I will pluck them from your oafish skull. You as well, assassin!”

Karida focused only on counting her breaths, eyes glued to the floor, and she walked with arms wrapped about her alongside Morrigan through the flames. Flinching at the anticipated heat, Karida gasped—but there was nothing, no heat, no stinging burn. The flames dissipated just as they all were across, and then that familiar, ethereal blue light tinged the air, heralding the appearance of the Guardian.

“You have passed through the Guantlet and walked the path of Andraste, and have been cleansed by the fire. You have proven your worth, Warden, and may approach the Sacred Ashes.”

Karida blinked. Everything was as it was before the fire—everyone back in the clothes and armor, weapons returned to their sheaths. Alistair looked just as surprised as her, before she tripped over her own feet in her haste to turn away to the Ashes.

Leliana murmured a part of the Chant of Light as she gently removed the Urn’s lid for Alistair to take a pinch and drop into the pouch Karida held open.

They stood a moment to consider the statue, and Karida thought briefly that after what she’d experienced here, she didn’t want to lift any of the tempting gold-inlaid altar- ware for fear the Guardian spirit would send her right back into the fire. So then they headed down out a door behind the dais into the snowstorm. They had to move slowly on the treacherously narrow trail cut against the mountainside, for none of them had any traction save Dog with his paws. Cold wind whipped their clothing and slashed their faces with renewed fury, and all that guided them from the edge was Wynne’s constant blue light.

The moon was high overhead by the time they reached where the horses had been. Their hobbles lay shorn on the snow.

“It’s going to be a long walk back to Redcliffe…” Wynne bemoaned.

“And a hungry one!” Leliana rummaged the saddlebag of one of the two horses they’d recovered, but the other four had been laden with most of the food and tents. “Poor things, wandering frozen…”

“I say we raze the town, teach them a lesson.”

“Sure, that’ll fix our problems,” Alistair snapped at Morrigan. “Let’s just…leave before they’re any wiser.”

And so they did, with only a quarter of the supplies they’d arrived with, and they spent the rest of the night far from Haven, shivering and weary.


	15. Chicken Chaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicken-chaser? Do you chase chickens?  
> I'm going to have to eat every fucking chicken in this room

“At least you had the wits to keep the treaties on your person.”

“Not as dumb as you think, now am I?”

“’Twas not praise of your intellect, believe me.”

“Too late, I’ve already taken it as a compliment.” Alistair elbowed Karida, startling her head from her fist where she dozed by the fire. His chuckling did not lessen the sudden trepidation she felt when she looked at him. _‘Clear the Wardens’ name of murder’_ , he’d said, but he _knew_ now, didn’t he?

Wynne’s sudden cry made Dog leap from his shallow hole in the snow—the old woman was holding up a pair of holey grey socks. “And just what are these doing in my tent?!”

Across the fire, Alistair twiddled his thumbs. “Uh, I was hoping you could mend them…?”

Wynne strode over with a hand on her hip, shaking the socks at him, and Karida couldn’t help but laugh. He tried to explain how she seemed the grandmotherly sort, and wasn’t winning any ground. Dog’s chin rested warm on her thigh.

Sten sat in the snow like a silent, threatening shadow at the edge of the firelight. _‘They didn’t have my sword…’_ If he would slaughter defenseless people over a lost sword, what might he do to her if he had another chance? Karida shivered, her eyes sweeping to Zevran’s curled form on his bedroll. For all his blatant murderous behavior, he seemed less likely than Sten to turn on her. Still, she would keep an eye on him. _That makes three, with Alistair now…_

Morrigan sat watch by the dying embers when Karida returned from a call of nature. _Trying to dig a hole in sodding icy earth…_ Her socks were wet through and frozen in her boots.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” The witch’s voice was quiet as falling snow. “I’m afraid I’ve no more of the dreamless potion; you have the last of it.” Karida’s heart sank as she fingered the tiny vial in her pocket. “I hadn’t planned on us taking so long to return.”

“Thanks, then. I suppose I’ll be able to go without…” She tried not to think of what new, _exciting_ nightmares awaited. “How are you coming with that book?”

“Still slow; my elvish is not as sharp as Mother’s, yet still sharper than yours.” Karida’s mouth curled. She was flattered the witch would jest with her. “But I have learned some of Mother’s tricks, new shape-shifting spells. What I am really after, however, is to learn how she has kept herself alive all this time.”

“’All this time’?” Karida crouched on the rock across from Morrigan, her desire for sleep now less appealing. “How old is your mother, exactly?”

“’Tis a long story,” Morrigan shrugged.”One I am not so certain you’d wish to hear so late. But if you wish… Tell me: do you know any of the tale that the Chasind still tell?” To Karida’s ignorance, Morrigan told of how centuries ago, before Ferelden had its name, Flemeth was the wife of a lord Conobar. She soon fell in love with a bard and fled with him, and Conobar swore vengeance. In truth, Flemeth claimed it was the bard her husband and Conobar the jealous lord. He offered Osen power and wealth in exchange for his beautiful wife, and he agreed. A bard’s life is poor and love wanes in the face of hunger; Flemeth suggested the arrangement, actually.

All would’ve been well had Conobar held up his end, but he was a fool and bargained with coin he didn’t possess, so Osen was led into a field and slain. Flemeth learned of this from the spirits, and swore revenge. Chased by Lord Conobar’s allies into the Wilds, she hid, and found the demon that made her strong. “’Tis that which gives Mother her unnaturally long life, I suspect. But she is no immortal; she bleeds. A blade in her heart would kill her, were it luck enough to find it.”

“Don’t the stories always mention multiple daughters, though?”

“I’ve wondered if I have sisters, myself. But those tales existed long before I was born, and Flemeth refuses to speak of other daughters, if they existed…” Morrigan turned a yellowed page. “I do not believe everything she claims. Oft it seems bitterness clouds her memories.”

Karida covered a yawn and remarked, “Being brought up by somebody like Flemeth had to have been rough. She didn’t strike me as a very loving-type of mother.”

“Hm, yes, rough is a word for her. She had her moments of what could be compared to compassion but most oft she was strict. Everything was a lesson…” Morrigan’s pale, thin arms folded. “Dare I ask of your own mother? Is she the loving-type, or abomination-of-legend kind?”

 _Mothers, such a popular topic these days._ “She was also one to value survival and cunning. But, she was the loving-kind, I’d say, even if she could be a bit rough. She taught me all I know of archery—my bow is one of the last things I have of hers, actually.” Karida could see Mother’s white gown around her ankles, and blinked.

“Oh, I had not realized….”

“She’s been dead a while now. Honestly, she’d be pretty jealous of me. She had a knack for getting into trouble and dealing with danger, more than me. Must by why Duncan sought her.”

“You speak so fondly of her.” Morrigan stared past her, rubbing her feathered shoulders. I find myself a little envious as well, truth be told… But, it matters not. Take advantage of your rest now, for it is your watch next, Warden.”

***

_Father danced with Mother in his arms, twirling her so her white dress spun wide around her ankles. Karida stood clapping and crying, and began to laugh when her parents took her by the hands to join in their silly dance. ‘You look so much like your mother…’ Father said, and it was just her in his arms, her in Mother’s white dress. ‘And see the pretty bride…’ And it wasn’t Father holding her anymore, but that shem—that vile, leering nobleman who tried to keep her struggling and screaming in his arms while darkspawn staggered towards Shianni, clawing for her legs and pulling her down screaming and sobbing. ‘ **NO!** No, don’t touch Shianni! Don’t take her—‘_

Karida found herself grateful to be awake later, yet miserable to be out of her warm bedroll, shivering now beside the dead fire, holding Dog close for warmth and support. She’d thought she might try to make this last dose of the potion last, and sipped only a little of it. _Look how that worked out. Why can’t I just…_ forget _everything? Why can’t it be hard to remember like the Fade dreams?_

Dog growled lowly and she whipped her head up fast to spot Zevran rise from his cloak. Her eyes narrowed and Dog’s growl grew as he approached.

“I was wondering if I might speak with you.”

 _You and everyone else._ Karida quieted Dog, curling her fingers into a fist. “About what?” Everyone else was also sound asleep, too— _why else would he be up now?!_ But, his hands were empty, and he wore no swordbelt.

Zevran cocked his head to the side. “You do not trust me, do you, fair Warden?”

“Don’t call me that. And I trust you as far as I can throw you.”

He smirked, “That would make for an interesting game.” Karida scowled. “Shall we try?”

Firmly, “No!” and she shook her head as her cheeks flushed red. _Why?!_ “What do you want?” It was still snowing— _why’s your shirt not laced, why aren’t you swallowed in your cloak too?_ —and she found it hard to stop her eyes from following those black tattoos curving across his collar, down his chest—she flicked her eyes away angrily.

“Well, I wanted to propose something. We all saw how keenly our very tall friend wished you dead, and I am not certain that he is satisfied with your victory, or that he will remain as complacent as he’s been.” Zevran shifted, smiling. “The way I’ve learned to wield a blade seems more your fashion than lugging your heavy shield—which, sadly, you have lost—and I could show you, if you would have me, how to balance with two blades, flourish and dance. A battle is not all strength, as Sten sees it, and should he challenge you again, you would be better prepared—and less likely to break your arm.”

The fluid way he fought was more alluring than the strong, militaristic way Alistair taught her…but, her eyes narrowed, even _if_ he was another elf and not some shem, a training accident would be easy to manage. He still had a job to finish. “No, no thanks Zevran,” _not really,_ “but I don’t accept.”

“Ah, well, your loss, truly,” he shrugged. Before turning, though, he glanced her way once more. “If ever you change your mind, simply ask. I am willing to share what I know, not even in exchange for my debt. It might even save you a great deal of trouble. I bid you pleasant dreams, Warden.”

***

Darkspawn chased her dreams and in the morning, nausea overcame her so much that she bolted from her bedroll to a thicket. She wiped her mouth with shaking hands— _was this the Taint? Or…withdrawals?_ She’d known many an addict in the Alienage go ill from missed doses of a drug.

Arguments between witch and Warden grew more frequent with each day. Out of the steep, cold Frostback slopes but now hopelessly lost in thick, frosty forests, the two couldn’t agree which way to go.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Leliana pushed between them. “We’ve hardly any horses and no map!”

Alistair grinned, “See, this is what happens when I lead. We get lost—at least none of us died—but, I did lose my trousers at some point.”

“Yes, but how many days has it been since we left Redcliffe?” Wynne asked from atop one horse, her shoulders set beneath a furred cloak. “How many more days will the Arl survive?”

Spirits dampened, Alistair looked sullenly at the snow. Karida agreed it best for Morrigan to scout the sky, and later the witch returned with hopeful tidings.

“Smoke rises to the west; ‘tis a village, two or three miles as the crow flies.” She righted her long black skirt as she stood. “Maybe they will have a map.” She gave Leliana a spiteful look that would’ve been better had she stuck her tongue out.

“I don’t remember seeing a town to the west on the map. What’s with these remote villages not being on maps?” Alistair huffed.

Zevran leaned over slyly. “Perhaps it is because you had a shoddy map.”

And before Alistair could retort, Sten growled, “Agreed.”

***

Tell trees and hills hid the smoke as they approached, but Karida could feel at once something wasn’t right. “It smells too strongly…”

“And it’s awfully quiet. A tad too familiar,” Leliana said beside her.

Something else perturbed Karida. A weird sensation that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Under the smoke she tasted something foul she couldn’t place right away. Then, a soft of rumbling noise started, faint in her ears. Or was it in her head? _Is my heart pounding that loud?_ She stopped short, nostrils flaring. Was someone _humming_ , or was she imagining that too…? She smelled something, but not… _physically_ , not as if the source were right there at the moment, but as if it was something she _remembered_ sniffing. That distant thunder, the humming….like in her dreams, just when she would spot—“Darkspawn?”

Dog bristled where he stood as Alistair drew his sword. “Definitely.”

As if waiting for an announcement, the monsters came bounding down the hillsides, and the rumbling in her mind grew into their snarling. Karida dodged her way without a shield through the fight until all were dead, shaking her head of the dissonant, inconsistent humming, and the party moved on past the tall pines.

Homes smoldered from days’ old fire and corpses fly-ridden on black grass told of the village’s ravaging. Only a statue standing over it all remained intact.

“They’re moving faster north than I’d hoped,” Alistair sighed, nudging a charred helm with the toe of his boot. “But…Duncan _did_ say that without an Archdemon at the lead, they would scatter…”

“When should it emerge?” Karida watched a roach crawl from one dead man’s wide open mouth into another’s busted ear. “And where has it been all this time?”

“The Deep Roads, maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t think even Duncan really knew when it would show up.” Alistair started to laugh. “We’ve got to be the sorriest Grey Wardens Ferelden’s ever seen—we hardly know anything about our enemy and we’re always unprepared. At least you’re starting to sense them now, right? It’ll get stronger over time, and you’ll start to notice them from farther away. Duncan told me it’s actually the Taint within yourself that you smell when you sense darkspawn.” His lips curled into a frown of disgust. “Kid of unpleasant, once you think about it.”

Everyone else had spread out to look for survivors or supplies, but Karida went to the statue, wondering at the shiny blue gemstones jutting from its shoulders.

“I don’t think you should remove those crystals,” Wynne warned. Karida stiffened, standing on the statue’s arm with her dagger tip at the base of one gem. “Those runes…this is no mere sculpture, but a golem.”

“…and that is?” _Something worth a bit a coin?_

“A dwarven construct. An ancient technology lost to them now, if I remember correctly.” Wynne moved closer to examine the glyphs along the statue’s collar. “There are some in the Circle who hope to gain more from Orzammar than lyrium, but offers for knowledge have always been met with rejection.”

“So it’s some kind of machine?” Karida looked the statue up and down doubtfully, yet this sounded vaguely familiar for some reason…

“Not necessarily. It’s not controlled by magic either, as dwarves are disconnected from the Fade, but I do believe lyrium is used in their construction. Those crystals have something to do with its power. Another piece is needed to actually activate it, from what I’ve read. A control aspect of some kind…” Wynne tapped the golem’s wrist. “Curious such a thing would wind up in so remote a place as this…”

Leliana joined them by now, fruitless in her search of people or horses. But… _control aspect?_ Karida thought of those two dwarves they’d rescued outside Lothering. _Hope I didn’t leave it in the saddle bag…_ She rummaged distractedly through her satchel, telling Wynne of the trinket she’d acquired from the travelling dwarves.

Sunlight flashed off the garnet as Karida handed the rod down to Wynne. “These letters are worn… D…dun—no, dul. Dul…em. That’s the first word. And…’h’, I think. ‘H’…’a’…”

Leliana turned the rod in her hands. “I’m not very familiar with dwarvish. _Du…lem harm?_ ”

“No wait, that last one’s an ‘n’. ‘Dulem harn’ it says.”

“’Dulen harn’?” Karida repeated. “What’s it mean?”

Wynne shook her head, “No, ‘Dulem harn’.”

The runes on the statue’s chest began to glow blue, and pebbles trickled slowly down its sides. CRACK. CRUNCH. GRIIIIIIIIIND. Karida toppled from her perch atop the crooked rock arm that began to _move_ , and it sounded like the stone itself was being shattered by a sledgehammer as its knees lifted one by one, just when Alistair and Zevran came scrambling over the fence shouting.

Dog lowered his head with teeth barred, and Sten snarled, “Is this some sort of sorcery?”

Dust fell from the construct’s face. “I should hope not. I detest sorcery.”

Karida’s eyes went wide as saucers. “How can a statue talk?!”

“How should a squishy small thing like you speak? I am no statue, but a golem.” The two blue glowing orbs above the carved mouth with lips that moved when it spoke pointed towards Wynne. “It has the control rod, I see.” Air escaped that mouth in a loud sigh. “It _would_ have to be another mage.”

Wynne didn’t seem to hear the contempt. “This is incredible! I’d never fathomed these could speak, let alone have such cognizance of their surroundings like this!”

“So you saw what happened here?” Karida asked, neglecting to ruminate longer over the fact that she was talking to a _rock_ , because at this point in her journey…well, things had been weirder.

“The destruction of this village was the most interesting thing to happen here in ages.”

Alistair leaned over to Wynne. “So these golem things were built for war?” And he nodded intently while she explained their use in the First Blight. “Does that mean,” he tried to pull the control rod from her, and she swatted his hand away, “—ouch! Does that mean we can use it to help _us_ fight darkspawn now?”

“Let us find out.” Morrigan deftly swiped the rod up. “Attack Alistair.”

“Hey!”

The golem stood motionless. If not for the pulsing of its markings, Karida would’ve thought it inactive again. “Jolly, _another_ mage. I am beyond the power of a control rod. But if it wishes to fight darkspawn, I feel compelled to join. They are an evil that must be crushed, and it has been a long while since I have crushed anything.”

“Well great, you’ll fit right in.”

Karida watched Alistair ask excitedly of the thing how best it liked to mangle darkspawn. _Funny, we’re having a less mistrustful time recruiting a talking pile of stone than we did a flesh and blood elf…even if he_ did _try to kill us…_

They learned its name was Shale, yet it would give none of them their proper name besides ‘it’—save Dog, who it warned not to urinate on its legs as many a dog of the village had. Shale set to rest the debate over which direction to go, telling of how travelers oft came from the east over a pass that led to the Imperial Highway.

So it seemed they’d gained the aid of a golem, for it followed them more quickly than Morrigan had predicted, and as afternoon gave way to night they found themselves back on the familiar stone highway in warmer woods.

Leliana hummed a tune idly as she chopped up the roots she’d been gathering all day, and Dog cocked his head from side to side, tongue lolling out as he watched her. “I love stories too much to keep them to myself. You love to hear them, don’t you boy?”

“I used to have a stuffed mabari toy when I was little,” Karida mused, scratching Dog’s ear so well his leg began to thump. “I said it gave me courage. Might be why I’m so fond of you.”

"Do you know any of the stories that your people tell in the Alienage?"

"I mean, not any I was particularly fond of," Karida told her, and she took a twig to write, "Aneth ara", an elvish phrase for greeting that the Elder tried to encourage use of. Morrigan told her she needed to practice her spelling. "Back home, they cling so much to the shell of tradition for some sense of control that they can't even see it's just as oppressive as human imposition."

“What does it think I consume, _rocks_?” The stone giant’s voice had reached a grinding pitch. “Of course I need no food! I am no soft creature chained to the demands of flesh!”

“Not all demands of the flesh are so repulsive, as I am sure our dear Wynne knows,” Zevran said.

Leliana’s eyes met Karida’s, and they tried their best to not burst out in laughter as Wynne snapped, “Young man, you are impertinent!” At least the golem might distract Wynne enough from harping on Morrigan’s ‘barbed tongue’. And Alistair’s hygiene. And Zevran’s life choices.


	16. Thirty Years

“Do you intend to stay awake all night?”

Metal gleamed in the dying firelight when Karida spun to her feet—yet, it was only Zevran there. She shushed Dog. “Why do you creep like that?”

“Habits die hard, I suppose.” Zevran took his empty hands from his pockets. “But I also noticed that _your_ most curious habit stopped suddenly. Has your store of liquor run off with the other horses? Or—“

“It’s none of your business!” Karida snapped, turning away. _How can he have seen me—I always drank under the covers!_ “Is _that_ why you’re bothering me now?” She’d barely dozed through dinner and taken the first watch, and not bothered to wake Leliana for the second. With her growing ability to sense darkspawn came her growing fear of the nightmares.

“I do not intend to bother. May I?” He gestured to the grass in front of her tree stump.

“Sit? But…I guess.” _Don’t get too comfy._ Her left hand was becoming useful again, and with it she tried covertly to slip a bomb from her belt. _Just in case._

“The contract was merely that: a job. You Wardens were just another mark, another means of making money—I hope you do not take offense, but that is how it is,” he added quickly. “There is no personal grudge I bear any of you. In fact, my desire to teach you, Warden, is out of my wish to repay such benevolence for sparing my life, while it might’ve seemed wiser to end it.” Karida bit her tongue, wishing he’d just go away but a part of her still wanted to hear him out. “And as I mentioned before, I have no intention of ‘finishing the job later’ as Alistair thinks. There’s no gain in it for me—your death now will offer me no safety from the Crows. On the contrary,” his dark brown eyes rose to hers, “I am safest in your company, with you Wardens alive. So…that is why I’d like to teach you to better your skills with a blade.”

Leave rustled. Dog stood, sniffing, but his hackles didn’t rise. “Let me get this straight—you want to teach me so you’ve less of a chance being found out by the Crows?” And she couldn’t help but feel like he was _insulting_ her—he explained that her improving of her swordfighting would benefit them all, especially with Sten. _As if I can’t hold my own—!_

“If you’d my skill, that skirmish would have ended far quicker. And you have my word I will make no attempt on your life. We can even practice with sticks if you like,” he said, grinning.

He _did_ seem sincere, though she wagered it wasn’t hard for an elf in his line of work. And…he was the only other elf she’d met outside Denerim that wasn’t a servant—never had been from what he talked about. But, he _had_ tried to kill her…. _But_ , she found herself curious to know how he got where he was, not bound to a proud Alienage or from the elusive Dalish. _Are the rules different in Antiva?_

Karida shook her head.”Ok, it’s true I’m not as trained at swords as well as you.” Her amber eyes shone as she stared back at him hard. “So show me what I can learn.” A stray curl tickled her eyebrow and she tucked it behind her ear—she’d let it down in a tumbled tangle earlier to wash it.

“You do not wish to participate?”

“No, I—my arm still needs to heal. I’ll just watch first.” _See what you’re trying to pull…_

“Mm. As you wish, though you would learn more effectively by practicing with me…” It was like a dance, he explained. One had to pay close attention to the opponent’s movements to determine when to strike, and where—when they drove forward, a backstab was open. Agility was a much better defense than heavy armor. Proper stance and knowing how to strike with minimal effort could do more damage than simple brute force.

The gentle way he held his sword, the fluid way his legs crossed as he nimbly demonstrated, Karida found herself itching to try, and jumped when he spoke. “Thank you, kind Warden, for allowing me to share my dueling prowess with you.” Bowing, he held his hand out to her. Karida stepped back. He looked up and shrugged, smiling. “Ah. Perhaps another time. And perhaps then we will share more than sword-talk, no?”

The color drained from Karida’s cheeks and she stiffly bade him goodnight, and fought to ignore the tightness of her chest.

***

Now that they’d their bearings again, it was within two days that they came to Redcliffe. Wynne turned her attention on the sickly Arl once more, concocting a poultice from the Ashes which she forced the man to drink as she worked a healing spell over him.

The hours trickled by. Alistair paced anxiously in the Arl’s bedchamber while Karida sat in the hall, dozing in a chair, Dog at her feet. Their other companions had gone off to refresh themselves or eat—save Shale, who stood out in the courtyard because it frightened the Arlessa.

 _‘I-I won’t fight. Please, just—don’t hurt her!’ ‘…and here I thought you’d be hard to break.’ Darkspawn claws encircled her throat ju_ st when a hand gently shook Karida’s shoulder. Steel flashed from her sheath. The sound of Alistair’s yelp and Dog’s warm weight against her legs forced Karida to realize through the fog of her dream that she was in the house of a different Arl, and that Alistair was no Arl’s son. Though, as she blinked blearily at him while he raised his hands from his belly in relief, only the fabric of his tunic sliced, his face… _his_ face…did not disappear right away.

“Maker’s breath, Karida! Did you hear what I said?”

“Hm—huh? I, oh—“ She rose from her chair, and Dog pushed his big head under her palm. “I didn’t mean—look, I can sew that so you don’t have to ask Wynne again.”

He shook his head at her. “I just wanted to tell you the Arl’s awake—the Ashes worked. But…” _Fear_ shone briefly in his hazel eyes. Karida’s heart sank. “You ought to get more sleep. I think Morrigan’s got your room ready.” He’d relayed as much as he could of Ostagar and the Blight to Eamon as he slowly regained consciousness, and the Arl was forever grateful the Wardens had done all they could to ensure his family’s’ safety. 

“Of course I ought to go to bed. Wouldn’t want to upset you and your ‘big happy family’.” Karida could almost not believe what she was saying, yet her half-awake state could not hold back the bitterness her fully-awake mind would leave unsaid. “It must be nice to be able to protect _your_ family. You shems get to have _that_ luxury, too. Wouldn’t want a knife-earred lowlife mucking up the reunion.”

Alistair’s mouth hung slightly open and his brows furrowed as if he too couldn’t believe what she was saying. Karida’s cheeks flushed crimson and she knew there was nothing she could say to fix the disaster, so she strode off as best she could while forcing her heavy eyelids to stay open.

***

The Arl had not yet risen from his bed the next morning, but he asked the Wardens for a private audience. Karida hid scowling under her hood, not meeting anyone’s eyes, angry with herself and angry with Alistair and angry with everything.

“I cannot thank you enough, Grey Wardens—Alistair,” Arl Eamon croaked from his bed, an ash bearded man with ashen skin and pale eyes—like a wrinkled corpse he lay. “For all you have done, I am eternally in your debt. I will do all I can to aid your cause.”

To start with, he allowed them access to his very own armory—outfitting Sten with a breastplate and pair of pauldrons that actually fit, light leather armor for the mages, and a new shortsword for Karida. Practicing alone what Zevran had shown her these past few nights, though her left arm hung in a sling that was soon to be no longer necessary, Karida found she liked the style immensely and no more grieved for a shield. Alistair on the other hand was glad to take a new one not bent and burned, yet still was reluctant to discard the shield Duncan gave him at Ostagar.

And such was the subject of talk when they gathered for a late breakfast, where Alistair was seated close to the Arl—who had to be carried down from his bedchamber, for his leg muscles had wasted during his imprisonment in the demon’s clutches. Karida stabbed at her food while watching Alistair smile and help steady Eamon’s trembling arms. _Like some nobleman with his bent and broken father…_

Later, the Arl pulled the Wardens aside into his study. The air between Karida and Alistair was so close she felt as though she could pluck it like a bowstring.

“Karida, was it?” The desk that Eamon leaned on was still littered with papers and maps, and he cleared a space. “As we spoke of Ostagar this morn, a thought occurred to me that might very well help the Wardens’ case against Loghain. But…it does involve returning to that battlefield…” King Cailan had been in possession of important, private correspondence with the Orlesian Empress which—Maker willing—were still hidden and undamaged among his lodgings at Ostagar. Those papers would prove invaluable in negotiating with Orlais, and Eamon would even send word to the Grey Wardens there, warning of Loghain’s usurpation and the dire need for Wardens against the Blight.

“And there is also the matter of the King’s arms…” He proposed that if they were recovered, the court would know it as no replica and would be swayed in favor of the Warden’s innocence. “Not a sign of remorse but of good faith—rarely does a criminal return to the scene of their crime.” Karida’s lip twitched at ‘criminal’ and her eyes swept accusingly at Alistair, waiting for him to glance furtively at her. “If you could find his shield, perhaps even his helmet…” _Jolly, it sure is convenient that helping your family happens to coincide with our ‘duty’ as Grey Wardens._ Eamon sighed wearily, asking their forgiveness. “His death…it is still so fresh to me… But,” he looked to Alistair, “you do…know what this means, don’t you my boy?”

Alistair went stiff as a rail, now furtively glancing at Karida as he cleared his throat. “Uh, now’s not—maybe later, Arl Eamon? But, if you really think we ought to go back to Ostagar, I will, though I can’t say I’ll be glad.” His voice cracked, and was a pitch too high. Karida glared at the other Warden out the corner of her eye, her back half turned to him, and she didn’t trust her voice to not also give her away so she stayed silent. There was a shadow there in the corner that she hadn’t noticed before, sitting in the darkness beside the fireplace—but when next she blinked, it was gone.

Sten of course was all on board for the idea of charging headfirst into darkspawn territory—though, he spoke in less words. Zevran and Leliana seemed less thrilled, while Wynne reluctantly understood the reasoning. Morrigan, on the other hand, didn’t complain, and even appeared apprehensive as the companions discussed it.

Karida felt she was in no position to argue against it, so she kept her mouth shut and avoided Alistair as much as possible during their preparations. Then she exchanged thoughts of sleeping dreamlessly on soft bedding for the rank smell of a saddle again as they rode off into the grey dawn, with a group of Redcliffe soldiers in tow and Shale tromping loudly to keep pace with horses.

***

All those flags Karida had once seen so high and bright a month ago now hung tattered and listless in this dead place. Wolves now rummaged the dregs of the Grey Warden camp, but, something was _wrong_ with them—spine spouted bloody from their deformed backs and brown liquid oozed from their maws.

“Blight beasts.” Alistair wiped his sword on the ground, black blood smearing grey grass. “Gone mad, twisted by the Taint from eating darkspawn carcasses.”

Karida rubbed Dog’s shoulder anxiously. There’d been some mabari among the pack. “Is this what we have to look forward to?” _Nightmares when I can sleep, zombie-like insomnia when I can’t, appetite increase though I’m always nauseous, the scent of my_ own _sodding Tainted blood when I sense darkspawn_ —this _is what it all culminates to?_ She stared at one dying wolf, its leg twitching and kicking as black blood streamed from its belly. Alistair wouldn’t answer her.

They searched the site of Cailan’s pavilion, now charred splinters and scattered tent cloths, and it was late in the day by the time Karida uncovered a metal box buried under ash, its lock so mangled she couldn’t pick it. Leliana managed to pry it open after painstakingly sawing off the mechanism with a tiny serrated blade. She showed it triumphantly to her and Zevran, boasting of the cleverness of Orlesian spies, while Alistair sifted through the stained papers.

Wynne peered over his shoulder, taking some to read herself. “These look more like…personal letters than official correspondence between nations…”

Alistair scratched his chin. “It does look like he knew the Orlesian Empress well… I’m sure the Arl will know what to do with this. Let’s try to find the King’s…body, before the sun goes down.”

The few darkspawn rooting among the dead on the front lines were no match for their bolstered party—until an ogre hurtled from the blackened tree line. It knocked Sten so suddenly that he went tumbling back through the phalanx of Redcliffe soldiers and smashing into a wooden scaffold that would’ve collapsed around him had not blue light shrouded him in a magic shield.

Arrows flew alight with witch fire and the beast turned with talons grasping for Alistair and Shale. The golem didn’t budge while Warden ducked beneath his shield, and the crystals on Shale’s shoulders began to crackle. Karida felt the hair beneath her helm try to stand from its braid. The statue bent down, slamming its fists together as crystals flared with lightning that flashed and leapt blinding onto the ogre, electrocuting it to a stinking crisp.

Alistair’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Maker, I didn’t know it could do that! Do the dwarves have more Shales stashed away? With an army like that—“

Wynne cut his joviality short with a point to the unpleasant sight on the parapets above: a body nailed to a post, stripped of all flesh and crowned with a golden helm.

It was a gruesome task to take Cailan’s body down and set his corpse aflame on a pyre fit for a King. Leliana bent her head as she said part of the Chant, and the Redcliffe men followed suit. Alistair held the gold helmet browned with blood in the crook of his arm, his hazel eyes reflecting the fire, and Karida watched as fresh blood dripped from the crown’s ridge to sizzle in the ashes. ‘ _’One big happy family’. Does that include me, brother?’_

It was too dark to head back for Redcliffe, so they camped on Ostagar’s outskirts near the Highway. Alistair polished Cailin’s armor wordlessly. _Like a little brother_. He’d found no sign of Duncan among the dead. Those gaping black holes in the bloody dirt must have swallowed him.

“Duncan…knew his time was close,” Alistair said, to no one in particular, when it was only the two Wardens left at the fire. _‘…only Duncan you mourn?’_ “He was having nightmares again.”

“You mean they’re not a constant?” Karida snapped.

He flinched, then his face hardened. “Well, maybe, but you get used to them. But the really vivid ones, the real nightmares happen when a Warden knows its time.”

“Time for what? Time to turn into a monster?”

Alistair forced a grin that looked more pained than pleasant. “Time for the Calling. See, you don’t have to worry about dying from old age, if battle doesn’t get you first.” He scrubbed vigorously at a black spot on Cailan’s shield. “You’ve got thirty years to live, give or take, before that happens. Traditionally, Wardens go down in the Deep Roads and die in one last fight with darkspawn. It’s better than…waiting. The dwarves respect us for it.”

“Would’ve been nice if you’d shared this earlier—in fact, before I signed up.” Karida pulled her knees up to her chin, biting her bottom lip furiously. This rage was useless, _helpless_ to do any good for her. “Oh, right, I didn’t have a sodding choice.” And she stood, startling Dog to his feet instantaneously. “I think it’d have been better that the headsman cut my neck before Duncan ever interrupted and conscripted me a worse fate.”

Alistair stared at her under furrowed brows. Before he could say anything, she slinked off…for a call of nature, and maybe to vomit, and she nearly shouted when a hand tapped her shoulder. Morrigan put a finger to her lips. “A moment, if you please, Warden.”

“You know that’s the second time you’ve spooked me coming back from the latrine.”

“Better afterwards than before.” The witch drew her further into the trees. “’Tis about my mother’s grimoire… While what you found in the Circle is not the spellbook I had hoped for, it has taught me something which I have long suspected, and dreaded.” It described in detail just how Flemeth had survived all these long years, and Karida listened, dumbfounded, not even sure she fully understood. More so, she was warred at the witch’s increasing agitation. Morrigan was always haughty, confident, sometimes alarmed, but never _afraid._

“That’s no way for a mother to treat her child. We can’t lose you to her, Morrigan.” _Especially with my friends growing thin around here…_

“So you comprehend now, truly? My mother must die—without me around. I-I don’t know how far I must be from her when she is bodiless—I do not know if her spirit will die. But it must be done, for my safety. And now with us here in the Wilds so close to her…there is no riper time.” There was such a look of panic in those yellow eyes Karida had never seen. “I ask this of you in return for my aid against the Blight, and against your dreams. And you…you are the one I trust most with this knowledge. Not that fool Alistair, who’d only scold me for considering this.”

Now that made Karida’s jaw drop slightly. This powerful, beautiful, wild witch considered her a… _friend_? “I’m glad you think that—I mean, I trust you too.” A warm feeling spread in her gut, to only be twisted suddenly into a clammy knot. “ _Kill_ your mother, though? By myself?! W-what if I get lost?” she stammered, “N-nor do I feel very qualified for the task of murdering an ancient demon-lady.”

Morrigan sighed. “Then bring along someone else familiar with the deed. The assassin would not be abashed. And I shall cast a spell that would conceal you both from Mother’s watchful gaze. Then would you be able to slip a knife through her heart.”

Naturally, Karida would rather not have to do this at all! But…lose Morrigan to Flemeth, or have the witch leave entirely because Karida refused? “Well…I will try, Morrigan.”

 _Who better to send than two murderers?_ Karida silently woke the other elf, and framed their task as a contract put forth by Morrigan on her mother’s life. She figured it was more out his wish to satiate his curiosity than to gain Morrigan’s favor that Zevran agreed, bowing to the witch. And in mock flattery, she waved him off.

And when it was Karida’s watch and Alistair had finally bedded down, they left Dog behind as sentry and Morrigan flew away as a crow and off they crept to her mother’s house.


	17. Mother Knows Best

Every snap of a twig or splash in a puddle made Karida’s heart leap in her throat as they wound like shadows through the darkness to the pond Morrigan told of, and uncovered the canoe left hidden there from her many excursions beyond the Wilds.

“The good thing about mages,and witches, I suppose, is that they die like any other.” Zevran was smiling, his hair almost silver in the moonlight beneath his beaked hood. “It’s just before that you need to worry about.”

“Shh!” Karida wanted to splash him with her paddle. “Why do you insist on taking right now?!”

“To put you at ease, dear Warden,” he whispered. “You see, one of my first contracts was for a mage. Beautiful young woman with divine legs…” Zevran had pretended to be lost and the mage offered him transport in her carriage, and they ended up sharing the night. As she was kissing him farewell in the morning, she slipped backwards on the steps and broke her neck.

Karida glared determinedly ahead, but couldn’t help to scratch her itch. “Weren’t you upset?”

“Hmm, upset, yes, but more surprised, really. I was young…” The Crows commended him for making it look like an accident, and the Circle smelled nothing foul. “Lady Luck can be merciful, sometimes, as I hope she will be tonight.”

They slipped into the mud to dock the canoe, and Zevran followed Karida’s lead sneaking up to the side of Flemeth’s hut. As she peeked around the corner, praying for Morrigan’s spell to work, wishing that the old witch was sound asleep—her heart froze. “I know why you are here, Grey Warden.”

Eyes wide, Karida pulled back and motioned for Zevran to go around the back of the house. She would…distract, or something.

“There is no use hiding in the shadows like the thief you are. Morrigan’s magic is not enough to hide your presence from me, Tainted One. She has sent you to do her dirty work, is that it?”

Inhaling, Karida turned out into the open to face Flemeth, hoping that meant she could only sense Karida’s Taint and not Zevran, and she glimpsed his form in the darkness behind the hut—and suddenly she hoped with heart pounding that he wouldn’t run out on her, leave her for dead! “She trusts me.”

Flemeth cackled. “Charming, isn’t she? You think her a friend, but she is playing you, biding her time. Do not so easily fall for her lies.”

“Funny, she said the same about you.” Karida drew her sword. _Where is Zevran?!_

“You think mere steel can stop me? I have lived for ages, fool girl, and have not let even flame consume me.”

“Well then maybe you should’ve picked less of a fool Warden to save. They might’ve listened.”

The witch’s knowing smile unnerved her. “Oh no, I have my reasons for rescuing _you_.” And a knife suddenly sprouted through her chest. Karida jolted back, gasping, as Flemeth chocked and blood welled between her lips. Zevran was standing there behind her when she fell.

“Ah, I’ve missed that rush. It’s been a while since I have killed like this.”

Karida heaved a sigh, her hand trembling as she ran it through her scalp. “H-hu—I thought for a second that you weren’t coming.”

He wiped his blade meticulously. “I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind. I’ve never had to kill a _wild_ with before.” Dark eyes slid up to hers, “I’ve never killed a Grey Warden, either.”

Karida swallowed—his knife was still drawn. _Maker, why why why did I bring him?! Stupid, stupid!_ She’d been so frustrated with Alistair that she almost forgot what danger Zevran posed. _When else would he have a better chance_ —and she stepped back.

“You swore your life to us. I thought you didn’t even want to go back to the Crows!”

“Hm? Didn’t I repay my debt just now?”

“Well…yes, fine? Take that then, and leave. Just don’t—“

“What? Kill you? I can’t count how many times I’ve heard dead men say that.” His cat-like smile crinkled the tattoos on his cheeks. “Ah, have no fear my dear Warden.” Zevran sheathed his knife as he approached. But Karida kept backing up, glancing over her shoulder. “I was not going to kill you, and have no plans of ever doing so again.”

“Why do I feel like I can’t believe you?”

Zevran held up empty hands. “I know. I haven’t given the best impression, but as I’ve said: I am your man—I killed your witch, after all. And I do not wish to leave you Wardens yet, so perhaps we should head back now the deed is done?”

“It was a life for a life. You’re free to go.” Karida wouldn’t let go of her sword, not yet.

“Even if I would like to depart, I am still indebted. I owe my life for two; there is still the one I owe Alistair.” Stepping closer, he said, “So let us return,” and he delicately pinched the tip of Karida’s blade between his forefinger and thumb, and lowered it. Karida stood stiff, staring into his glittering dark eyes, so brown and almost comforting like—

Karida shook her head and sheathed her sword, and gave the assassin and dead witch both a wide berth as she went into the hut for the second spellbook. She wished desperately to be back in the safety of Dog and Leliana. Blood pooled in the dirt beneath Flemeth. _Why so many things have to happen at once…_ Morrigan would know what in the world the old witch’s cryptic words meant, though, Karida was sure.

***

With morning came wonderings of Morrigan’s absence, and Karida awkwardly covered it up with a lie about her wishing to visit her mother. Alistair gave her such a skeptical look, but if he saw right through it he didn’t comment further.

They passed through what was left of Lothering. Like Ostagar it lay dead, the charred ribcages of houses ripped wide and maggot-laden corpses wriggling in the streets. They rescued a handful of survivors held captive by remaining darkspawn, and the people followed the Wardens back to safety.

“It is the Maker’s will these things happened,” Leliana was telling Alistair when he asked if she regretted not staying. “We are serving a greater good trying to end the Blight before it destroys everyone.” Letting some people die for the greater good didn’t sit right with him.”It’s impossible to save everyone. If that is how you feel, you best steel yourself for worse things yet to come, Alistair.”

On their return to Redcliffe, Morrigan met Karida in the stables as she put away her horse, and Karida asked warily if she was truly herself. “Were I my mother, I’d have struck you down in my fury before ever your foot left the stirrup.”

“Oh, well that is good to know. Now I wonder, do you intend to take your mother’s place? Ascend the throne, so to speak?” Zevran asked while Karida handed over the new tome.

“Considering the throne is a small shack in the middle of a cold wilderness, I think I may pass.”

Karida stood anxious for the assassin to leave, which made her horse paw at the dirt, which startled Dog into snapping at it.

“…didn’t know what your mother was planning until you read it in that book, that’s what you said.”Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she affirmed Zevran’s statement. He grinned toothily. “I admire you. You are a wicked, wicked woman. What would be my reward, I wonder? A night of your enthralling company, perhaps?”

“You are a fool who spends far too much time on his hair.” Morrigan tossed him a jingling bag. “Here is your coin; be gone!”

“Morrigan,” Karida said in a strained whisper as Zevran walked off whistling, “what reason would you mother have specifically for saving me at Ostagar? She said as much, before she died.”

The witch’s eyebrows rose. “Did she? Well, I am not certain of all Mother’s motivations,” Karida’s heart sank, “but I believe she truly did not want the Blight to cover the world. Grey Wardens are necessary to end it, and you two were the easiest she could reach when the battle turned sour.”

***

Arl Eamon accepted Cailan’s documents and effects mournfully, and thanked Alistair. Karida may as well have been invisible. Tomorrow a ceremony would be held to honor those who died defending Redcliffe, and to celebrate the village’s rescue by the Grey Wardens. “I think this would be the first time our province would celebrate an elf,” he told Karida, as if it were something she should be proud of him for remarking on.

Karida departed to stroll among the statues in the courtyard, and one decided to talk with her. “The swamp witch is fond of this one, I have seen, yet it is no mage as well.”

“Look, I know a lot about prejudices, but you don’t have to be a mage to get along with one.” Karida tested the strength of her newly recovered arm by seeing how long she could hang from a tree branch. “Then again, I wasn’t leashed to one like you were for thirty years.”

“They are always scheming, probing like the elder mage, up to something unpleasant. I bid it do not trust any of them.” Karida released her right hand and hung by her left, which hurt only a little. It was more her old shoulder injury that ached as she stretched the muscle.

“Thanks, I’ll keep your advice in mind next time we find ourselves in the company of a new mage.”

The moon was high overhead when she finally felt like turning in. Yet, voices from the study caught her ears—Alistair’s, Tegan’s, and the Arl’s—and she turned back to the door with head cocked. _Denerim?_ She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her ear to the keyhole, curiosity winning her over.

“Alistair, you must understand. With Cailan dead and Anora as queen, Loghain rules through her as King-Regent. You’ll never muster the army you need for the Blight with him in the way.”

“I’ve realized that, Arl Eamon…but doesn’t it matter what I want? I never asked for royal blood. You’re—were the King’s uncle. The banns would love to have you sit the throne over some bastard. I’m a Grey Warden, anyway. My life’s sworn to fight darkspawn, to ending the Blight.”

“And that will make your case all the stronger than my brother’s—you, the young lost son of Maric, on the front lines as a warrior of the esteemed Grey Wardens, while Loghain broods in the capital trying to poison his rivals using apostates.”

Karida’s brow furrowed, and the image of the golden crown dripping with crimson floated before her eyes. _So Alistair, he really is…just like them. Not just any noble, but the bastard of the King._

Alistair scoffed, “Not so esteemed anymore. The whole country thinks the Wardens killed the King.” Footsteps neared the door—Karida pulled back. “Look, Arl Eamon, it’s been a very long day and I am very tired.”

“I understand…but think on it, will you?” The doorknob turned.

Karida twisted round to sprint away just as Teagan was saying, “And be mindful of the company you keep, Alistair.”

“You…it really was her, wasn’t it?” Her legs froze. _Her who?_

“I heard it true when I was in Denerim two weeks ago. An elf of the Alienage butchered the former Arl’s son and two other lords. She was to be executed when a Grey Warden intervened.”

“She was a conscript, but…well, I wouldn’t have believed it had she not said as much herself. Duncan, though, he wouldn’t have brought her if he didn’t think she was trustworthy. She was the only one to make it through the Joining, too.”

“Duncan was recruiting from prisons across the city. Desperate acts in the face of a Blight, to be sure. But keeping murderers and apostates in your close circle will not do you good at the Landsmeet. With such delinquents at the front of our cause, well…it might be wise to rid yourself of them when you arrive in Denerim.”

“Well I’m sorry uncle, but I’m one of those delinquents.”

The doorknob turned again, but Karida was already around the corner squatting in an alcove behind a statue, tears threatening to blind her, and she struggled to control her breaths as a tension gripped her lungs. _This wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this!_ Surely he would ask _why_ she did it— _and I cannot tell him!_ She clutched her sides— _what do I do now?!_ She couldn’t live with _both_ Morrigan and Alistair _knowing_ , knowing of her shame, her guilt, her violation.

Karida fled back to her room to collect Dog and her things. Morrigan was asleep at the table, head in her book. There was no point in sticking around for whatever the witches planned. And Alistair’s relations clearly didn’t want Karida’s help. There’d be little hope of succeeding, besides. _Might as well die at home with family than out here with strangers._

Her pack had provisions for a few days. Her coinpurse was empty, so she bade the Arl farewell by slipping into his study now the three men were gone and helped herself to a portion of coins and a bronze amulet locked in the safe she’d noticed tucked behind a tapestry the day earlier. Then she slipped through a window that Dog leapt through behind her, and scampered across the shadowy courtyard towards the stables—where a voice stopped her cold. “Where are you off to at this hour, sweet Warden?”

Karida wheeled on the assassin sitting up on the ledge of the battlement as Dog growled.”Why are you still here?” she spat without thought, anger loosening her tongue as it had unluckily done so before the wedding. _And look where that’s got me._

He cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

She flung her arms to the gate. “Why haven’t you just gone? Why stay when nothing’s holding you? Certainly no sense of good will.”

Dark brown eyes blinked. “I took an oath.”

Karida snorted, “So did I,” and she turned her back on him for the stalls.

“If you leave, what am I to do? I swore myself to the Grey Wardens.”

 _The last person I’d suspect a sliver of_ loyalty _from!_ “Didn’t you swear yourself to the Crows before? Go back to Antiva, or stay with Alistair, I don’t care. He’s the real Grey Warden. Who knows, maybe as King he’ll need the use of someone like you.”

“But, why Karida? Why are you running?”

She paused in the doorway—the way he said her name...something stirred in her chest. He’d never said her name before. “It’s not—I’m not running. I never wanted to join the Wardens!” She spun at him. “Last time we came to Redcliffe I wanted to think. Well, now I’m thinking and I think I don’t want to do this stupid quest anymore! I’m done! I’m out!” _‘Last two Wardens in Ferelden, the last two capable of ending the Blight.’ Shut up, Morrigan!_ “I’ve had no choice this whole damn time!” Flemeth’s knowing smile right as the knife burst through her breast. “I’ve just been shoved and baited by people who seem to know more than they’re letting on.” Flynt’s old scarred face and his constant smug smirk, _‘You think anyone’ll believe a little elf sneak-thief’s word over a human’s?’_ Before Duncan it was him, and when not him it was the Alienage and its restrictive traditions. _I’ve had no choice my whole life!_

And then she thought of those Blight-beasts, sickly with the Taint. _‘Thirty years, give or take.’_ “I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m useless at this,” Sten glaring at her with murder in his steely eyes—“Helpless…” Nola and Nelaros dead, Shianni sobbing with finger marks black on her pale neck. “I’m supposed to be _home_ , to make up for what I’ve wrought.” She’d been resigned to her fate…

“Oh.” Zevran was biting his lip. _Too much information…_

Karida shut her eyes to stop the tears. _Such a little brat. ‘Your precious Denerim will be swallowed by the Blight—those you hold dear will perish under the darkspawn horde.’_ She stamped her foot in frustration like a brat, like she’d done outside Denerim that day one month ago. _It was never fair! Not out here, not back there in the Alienage!_

“Talk about something. Tell me another of your contracts, about Antiva, _something_ , please.” _Make me feel guilty like Morrigan had done._ She dropped her pack, leaning against the doorframe, “Just…stall me. Before I make a decision I regret.”

“Uh…as you wish?”Blond eyebrows rose in bewilderment before Zevran simply shrugged. “Antiva and the Crows are all I’ve ever known. You see, like yourself, I’d no choice in giving my life to an order. The Crows bought me at a young age. This is the first time I’ve been away from home for so long. My job has always placed me in close proximity to death, so I try to take as much pleasure as I can from life. There are many things I am not familiar with, many places I have yet to see, and many interesting and pretty new people to meet.”

Karida cracked her knuckles between her legs where she sat bent over.

“And if the Blight was allowed to continue, all of that, those places, those people—they would be lost.” The sudden snap of his fingers made her head jolt from her knees. “I would not wish for that to happen. If I can do some part to help stop it, and maybe make a bit of money doing it,” she turned her head up at him as he smiled, “then I will.”

 _What had Alistair said? ‘It’s funny how the Blight brings people together…’_ Her closest companions on the road were an apostate, a bastard prince, and a spy-turned Sister. And here she was searching among a deadly assassin’s life philosophy for a strong enough reason to not turn tail and run right now. These people (and creatures) she had helped gather to the Wardens’ cause, they looked to Alistair _and_ her for guidance in ending this Blight that they all had a stake in—they all had left lives behind, just as she, and here they were out struggling with other total stranger in an attempt to do what they believed needed to be done.

Dog’s short hair was coarse under her fingernails. _Alistair…_ He would’ve found out what had signed her up for the headsman’s block, sooner or later… He needn’t know the details like Morrigan perceived. And… _he’s got his own dirty little secret to explain._

“Thank you.” She raised her eyes to Zevran’s way up on the battlement. “I…am sorry for yelling at you and…venting. I think I know what I’ll do now.”

He smiled and swung the leg he had hanging down over the edge. “I’m always happy to lend an ear or advice, or anything else you may wish of me, Warden Karida.”

 _‘It will be as the Maker wills it.’_ And for whatever motive Flemeth and her daughter willed her rescue, Karida would not diminish her second hold on life any longer. This was her fate, and there was no escaping it—she was so wound up in it now that it would entangler her again and again, no matter where she went. Though not by choice, the Wardens were her life now. No matter how much she desired to, she couldn’t turn her back on the Blight anymore.

This was her duty. It was time she took it seriously.


	18. The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

Lake Calenhad shone like gold in the morning sun, and the dead were laid out in small canoes that gently rippled across the glassy surface, soon to be set aflame by arrow. Bann Teagan somberly spoke of their courage and the Revered Mother thanked them for their sacrifice. Afterwards, Arl Eamon invited the village to celebrate the dead and rejoice in their victory.

Ale was brought down from the tavern (which had not completely burned) and food from the castle, and music was struck up from the bards. Leliana took up a lute as Zevran tried to convince Wynne to dance with him, while Sten went to the food and Shale stomped to keep the local dogs from sniffing at its legs. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen. _Nose-deep in Flemeth’s book…_

Karida felt the need to be elsewhere too. She didn’t deserve to be here, after what she’d attempted and the things she said. And all the hastily brought out tables, the music and dancing…it was just like the wedding. It sent a pang of shame and guilt spiraling through her stomach, empty from fresh retching this morning.

“Hey—don’t leave yet. Don’t you want to dance—or something?” Alistair caught up with her halfway on the steep path to the windmill, red-faced. “We haven’t had time to relax and eat like this since…ever.”

“No, I’m not hungry.” _And I don’t care for dancing._ “Don’t mind me. Just enjoy yourself, Alistair.”

He frowned. “Aw, but, well…do you mind if I walk with you back to the castle?”

“If you want.” _My Prince. Sure you can stoop to walk with a criminal?_

After a stretch of awkward silence, he blurted, “Look, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Calling sooner. I’m sorry I’ve let you down as the senior Grey Warden. I didn’t…think you would get so upset.” His face went the color of cooked beets. “You are still upset with me, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answered a little too quickly, then bit her lip as she stopped walking. “I mean, yes, but I’m more upset with myself. My tongue has a habit of running away with my frustration sometimes, and, well,” she shrugged at him, “I’ve been having a very frustrating time of all this. And I…want you to know that I…almost left last night. Again.” The corners of his mouth drooped. “I am sorry. My faith in the Grey Wardens has never been as strong as yours. I warned Duncan I wasn’t Warden material.”

“Karida…you’re not in this by yourself. I feel frustrated all the time, and _so_ overwhelmed.” He flung his hands uselessly to his sides. “You and everybody else is looking to me for what to do next—you think I _like_ pretending that I know what I’m doing? Maker, if only Duncan were standing here and not me. He left me as unprepared as you…”

“I-I realize that now. I’m just as much of a selfish ass as when I tried to ditch you after Ostagar. And…after hearing you and your uncles talk last night, I figured…well, that it’d be better for you if I just left, so people can’t use me to smear the Warden’s cause. Or your claim as King.”

“What—oh.” And his mouth was in that perfect shape, ‘o’. “Oh. You…heard _all_ that?”

Karida shrugged. “Everyone’s got their dirty little secrets. I thought if I didn’t pry into other perople’s, they’d not pry into mine.” _Morrigan proved that wrong._ “I’m sorry for yelling at you about your family. At this point, I realize there’s no use in fighting fate. I can’t run from carrying this duty I can’t forswear, so I might as well start taking it seriously. There might as well be honesty between us, too, not just as the last two Wardens in Ferelden, but as…friends.” She shrugged again, and dug a little hole in the dirt with the toe of her boot.

“Oh,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, that’s out then, huh. My father was King Maric and my mother was a scullery maid. I’ve never cared anything for royal blood, and always hated it. There never seemed to be a good time to mention it before and…I didn’t want you to treat me differently. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it.”

Karida scratched Dog’s head to do something with the anxiety in her hands. “Not just any bastard, but a royal one.”

He laughed, “Why hadn’t I thought of that? But, don’t tell the others—Morrigan especially. I’ll let them know myself, somehow…” His shoulder slumped as he sighed, then his eyes moved to hers. “Now that my secret’s known…is Bann Teagan right? About Denerim, the Arl’s son...?”

She stared pointedly ahead, nodding. _You can’t back down, not now… He deserves to know._ “Remember when I told you that I’d lost someone recently? The…Arl’s son, he came to the Alienage looking for…fun. Nobody protects elves, no law stops shemlens from doing what they want to us. I _tried_ to protect us.” Tears started to well in her eyes. Couldn’t her emotions give her a moment’s peace?! “They hurt my cousins, killed my friends and m-my… He tried to kill me. Duncan was the first human to tell me I was justified in what I did.” She hung her head. “That’s why I was so bent on getting back home before. The Alienage is probably paying the price I should have. And now,” she took a shaking breath, “Well, now, I still wish I were home, but I also get it not that my duty is here, standing against the Blight as a Grey Warden is meant to do.”

Alistair shut his mouth, then opened it, biting his lip. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were… I…that’s terrible…”

Karida tried to smile, not turning to him. “Its better I tell you rather than you hear whatever lies shems are spewing in Denerim. Though, I’d like this secret to remain with just you.”

“Of course—I won’t share so long as you don’t. It feels good, honestly, to know you finally know. Here, we can even shake on it since I know you won’t just take my word for it,” and he held out his hand with a wink. “Will you introduce yourself to me now without contempt?”

Karida laughed and wiped her eye, “Yes. My name is Karida, of the Grey Wardens. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, my Prince.”

“Ah. Great. You’re going to have fun with this, aren’t you?”

“Whatever would give you that impression?”

His hand squeezed hers gently, and his cheeks looked ripe as tomatoes. “Are all women this conniving, or just you?”

“I think Morrigan is worse.” Karida swiftly took back her hand, wanting with a sudden desperation to turn his attention off her as familiar coldness crept up her spine. “Even Leliana is more coy than she lets on. But go on, get back to your family. I don’t want to keep you.”

“You’re not, don’t worry. But later we should get down to business. There’s a lot we Wardens need to plan.”He was rubbing the back his neck again. “There’ll be time to celebrate enough once this Blight is all over.”

That evening, the Wardens spoke for a long time and Karida found new energy in reading over the treaties. She’d always held back before, letting her contempt at being forced into this order stop her from trying too hard, while secretly hoping they’d all give up. Now, she confidently studied the map and pointed out how Orzammar would be the next logical destination, before east to the Brecilian Forest.

“Have you got any plan for Sten? He’s not said a word to anyone since we left the mountains,” Alistair said quietly as he leaned over to her, watching the Qunari standing straight-backed by the door.

Yes, he and her needed to come to some sort of compromise soon before another conflict drew out his murderous behavior. “I’ve got something up my sleeve, I think…”

Their meeting was adjourned with agreement on Orzammar, but instead of heading to bed like the rest, Karida instead went down to the training area of the castle’s armory, to rehearse all Zevran had shown her.

Short sword in hand, knife in the other, Karida flew at the dummy with newfound purpose—this was the only language Sten would understand, and it was time they talked.

When Karida turned, sweat dripping down her neck, she glimpsed a figure in the doorway: Zevran leaning against the frame. “Very well done. The Crows won’t be so hap—“ he covered an abrupt hiccup, “—py that I am spreading their secrets, but bah! They’re already angry with me.” Karida’s nose wrinkled at the stench of ale. He’d been the only one of their companions not at the Warden’s gathering, gone off to the tavern Wynne had said.

“You should sleep that off. We’re leaving for Orzammar in the morning.”

“All business and no play, aren’t you? Didn’t- _hic_ -realize they made Wardens such _serious_ fellows.” He waved his hand. “You and I are not so dis- _hic_ -similar, you know. Both of us clever, attractive elves with certain lucrative sk- _hic_ -ills, though I’d wager yours is more the stealing game than killing.”

Karida shook her head and turned back to the dummy. “It’s going to be a long ride tomorrow.” A not altogether unpleasant feeling came over her when she went back to practicing, and felt his eyes follow her. _At least they’re not shem eyes…_

He broke the silence with a loud hiccup. “You weren’t at the party. The Grey Wardens were the guests of honor after all—the first elf champion of R-hic-edcliffe! The night’s still young and I for one wish to make the most of a sorry situation. Would you still want to celebrate, fair Warden?”

Karida locked eyes with the lopsided coal ones of the dummy, quiet, her joints going stiff.

Zevran exhaled noisily. “This must be a Fereldan thing, I sw- _hic_ -swear! You’re not the first to reject me. I- _hic_ -have a fancy for all kinds. I fancy you, if y- _hic_ -you hadn’t noticed.”

Face hot from anger more than anything, Karida snapped, “It doesn’t matter to me who you take to bed—just so long as they _want_ to be there. And that it isn’t me.” Maker, she couldn’t look at him anymore, and she brushed passed him brusquely.

However the Taint might draw on her trauma in dreams, at least in her waking hours she _would_ be free to not dwell on it, and she almost hated Zevran for his forwardness as it forced her to remember things she was trying so hard to forget.

***

Karida hoped he forgot it all in his drunken sleep. There was Sten to turn her attention to his dawn.

The Qunari stood ready for travel out by the practice circle where a group of the Arl’s men were training. He looked up, almost annoyed, when she struck her new short sword in the dirt at his feet.

“Draw your blade.”

“I have experienced first-hand that you are no skilled fighter. Your means of victory are underhanded and weak.” He folded his muscular arms.

“Sten, look. I know you’re not impressed with the Wardens—with me. I didn’t choose to join, but it’s my job now to deal with darkspawn however I can.” She shifted from foot to foot. Standing up to Sten was about as easy as fighting a dragon. “I promise I’ll use no tricks, no tools. Just my blades and my wits. If I win, you’ll have to continue on with us while first swearing not to try and kill me again. But if I lose, you’ll be released from Warden direction and could leave to find your redemption some other way. Do you accept?” She knew full well he had to. Qunari logic demanded he do so, or be disgraced even further.

Slowly, his eyes moved down to her. “Very well.” And he lifted his sword.

 _Well that didn’t take long._ So they moved into the unoccupied circle. Karida moved back out of greatsword reach with bouncing feet, waiting for his blade to swing around his back. Sten twisted after her like a whirlwind. Zevran had said to make the first blow count by crippling, incapacitating the opponent. There was no way she could cripple Sten, so she kept her distance, letting him charge only for her to dance away.

“You must think I’m the worst Grey Warden. You’re probably right.” Sten snarled, greatsword sweeping overhead and gouged only dirt when it came down for Karida, who tumbled behind his back. “I wasn’t trained for battle.” Karida managed to steal a swift jab at his shoulder that only bounced off new armor. _So much for making the first hit count…_ “But, I survived the Joining while those more skilled than me didn’t. That’s got to mean something.”

She ducked away as Sten cut left and right through air, and Flynt’s knife nicked exposed skin at the back of his knee—just before he thwacked her shoulder and jarred the dagger from her hand. Swallowing back pain, she held her wrist close, hoping the newly healed fracture hadn’t broke again. “Me and Alistair, we’re all there are here to stop the Archdemon. And I know we won’t get far without your help.” Karida feigned a strike at his leg, drawing him from a counter that planted his right foot deeply in the sand, greatsword swooping from his left shoulder. She leaned low from it only to rise snake-fast as his weight was thrown to the right, and she leapt onto his back to ram the hilt of her retrieved knife into the soft pressure point between his collar bone and neck, while flicking her sword to his throat.

“So I’d rather you follow us not in stubborn silence, but willingly. As equals.”

Sten stood frozen, arm still outstretched, fingers shaking so much she feared he’d drop his sword.

“It would seem you’ve improved since our last skirmish. Astonishing.”

Karida exhaled loudly through a grin. “Will you take this as a victory?” Those soldiers had stopped practicing and were staring outside the ring.

“An honest one, yes. Please, get down.”

She hopped lightly off his back. “This doesn’t mean you’re bound to follow me any longer, though. You’re free to go.”

Deep violet eyes considered her. “I had believed you out of your place, that you were callow and that your determination was lacking. Now I see it flickering through your inexperience.” When he raised his sword, Karida braced herself, but he simply beat the pommel to his chest. “It is my atonement to see this through as I have vowed. If you truly mean to end the Blight, then I will follow you as you take up your duty, Grey Warden.”

He hadn’t called her Warden since before the Frostbacks. Karida lifted her chin, her heart swelling. “I would be honored to have your support until the end, Sten—so long as you don’t try to kill me again.”

The barest hint of what could be taken as a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “That’s twice you have beat me. I would be a fool to attempt a third.”

She reached out her hand with a grin. “Truce?”

He gave her hand such a firm jerk that it nearly dislocated her shoulder. “Truce.”

“Well,” shook her stinging fingers behind her back, “it’s good to have you back on our side, Sten. I think I smelled cookies baking in the kitchens. Want to check?”

And over a breakfast of biscuits, she garnered the truth of his imprisonment in Lothering. Sten caged himself: “A weak mind is a deadly foe.” He and seven of his brothers of the Berassaad (Qunari soldiers, he explained) were sent to search the Ferelden countryside for darkspawn—only to be ambushed beside Lake Calenhad one night by a whole host of them. Sten was the only man to survive. The farmers who rescued him had not his sword when he awoke, and lost in rage and grief, he…killed them. By the Qun, a lost sword meant a soul lost, and without it, Sten could not return to the arishok.

Karida saw the lightning flash white over his rain-plastered hair. This was why he sought redemption, then. “There’s a chance your sword can be found, Sten. I’m good at least at finding things. And, well, if it isn’t, you’re welcome to stay with us as far as you’d like.”

“I..thank you, and though I am doubtful of its finding, your hope is comforting.”


	19. Walking with a Ghost

Next morning saw their final farewell to Redcliffe, and now they headed north for Gherlen’s Pass, and Orzammar beyond. There was a chill in the air come evening while Morrigan tended to her simmering stew. Dog sat close by with a long, wet string of slobber hanging from his maw.

“If you get that on my pack again, mongrel, I will turn you into a cat. Begone!”

Alistair almost stood up, then slapped his cheek. “Oh, were you talking the dog.”

“No, no, in fact I _was_ alluding to you. And besides, why would you want _my_ cooking?” Morrigan smirked, letting a ladle-full of stew slosh back into the pot. “I might’ve put newt’s eye or toad’s legs in it.”

“Oh-ho-hew, not my delicate culinary sensibilities,” Alistair mocked, shaking his head from side to side while pulling his lower eyelids down. “Did I ever tell you how you look just like your mother?”

Shale’s stomping footsteps drowned out their banter. “Grey Wardens, command the elder mage to stop nosing about my person, or I might accidently break it!”

“Like you did your former master?” Morrigan arched an eyebrow.

“Pardon my curiosity, Shale. You are the only active _and_ speaking golem I have seen."

Shale appeared to ruminate on this for a moment. "You have seen more of my kind?"

Wynne explained that there was one deactivated golem in the Circle's basement, and Shale wondered what it had done to be shut off, to which Wynne did not know. "I think it came from Tevinter a long, long time ago. Perhaps it was brought to guard the tower."

"Its people do enjoy their slaves, don't they?"

Wynne pursed her lips. "It...was not a _slave_! It was...it was a..."

"A tool? As I thought." The grinding sound of Shale's head shaking halted Wynne's words. "No, don't deny it. No." And the golem stomped off into the trees, as if really very affronted.

"You're not winning any friendship points on that sinking ship," Karida said, scratching Dog’s striped tummy while he kicked his legs at her, growling in contentment.

"I...I did not think a golem could have personality like this—or at all! They are automations constructed of stone and lyrium—nowhere I have read was there mention of intelligence like this, however artificial."

“You don’t think it’s real?”Karida looked up. “Shale expresses a lot of emotion and opinion. Makes me think there’s more to it than some old dwarf magic—er, math. Engineering.” Honestly, she found it harder to believe this person brought up among magical mysteries who understood the Fade and inter-dimensional demons could find it difficult to believe Shale was something more than it appeared. “Maybe it’s possessed by a demon?”

“Hm. I suppose…” Wynne sighed and sat beside Karida, who scooted away somewhat in surprise. “I suppose you would identify such things more than I.” Dog swung his big head in the dirt to Wynne’s lap.

“What’s…that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, Warden, that as an elf, you must be used to people thinking of you in a certain…stereotypical way and not looking any deeper. That must be hard.”

Karida’s brow furrowed and she tried to look anywhere but the mage’s firm blue gaze. “I’d have thought that, y’know, being a Circle mage you could kind of get it.”

“There are reasons the Circle exists, though. If we mages had no place to go and learn our inborn skills, then we would pose a greater danger to the rest of the population, or we might be killed outright.” Wynne smiled wanly, and Karida returned it quickly. “But as elves who possess no potentially dangerous magic, the rest of society would still see your people subjugated.”

“Maybe it’s because they do fear us,” Karida muttered to the dirt. “One day shems will…” she trailed off, and her eyes swept to Alistair, pointing at Morrigan’s nose. _One day shems will have to see us as people, or there’ll be a revolution. And now there’s someone_ I _have sway with who could change things, who could make laws and enforce fairer judgment. Would he even_ want _to, though, or care, or be able to…_

***

Karida parried air before she twirled, knife high, stabbing at nothing, and she turned again, only to jolt when her blade met metal. Zevran’s knife was crossed with hers. “I should hope none attack us as we sleep, if this is how you keep watch.”

She huffed as she jerked her blade back, face hot. “Dog’s a good a sentry as any of us.”

“Mm, maybe. He didn’t alert you the night I attacked.”

Karida scowled and wanted to call the hound over to bite him. “Why did you pick up the contract on us, anyway? Were we worth a lot of money?”

He considered her thoughtfully, “No, the payment was not outstanding. I was more intrigued by the targets. You see, the Crows have known Grey Wardens to be notoriously tough to kill—as you both have proved,” Zevran flashed her a grin. “There was also mention of a previous attempt in which the assailants returned unsuccessful, and that ‘impudent knife-eared bitch’ who had the nerve to tell my former employer he’d have to try better.” He examined his fingernails. “I thought I would be the better.”

“Well, you must’ve been thoroughly disappointed.”

“Not exactly, no. You see, I was given the impression this Warden would be a brutish, ugly woman. To find she was pretty and benevolent came as a surprise.” Dark brown eyes caught hers. “Had you been any other Warden, I would not be here right now.”

Karida stared back, unsure how she felt at the fluttering in her stomach. _Dinner coming up?_ “We’re lucky it happened the way it did. Had you been any other assassin, you would've turned on us.”

He smiled weakly, and looked away. “You’ve been practicing without me.”

“And I shouldn’t? You’re the one who said I needed the training so I don’t get us all killed!”

“True, true,” he shrugged. “I see it’s gotten Sten back in your good graces. Yet there is more I can teach you, though it would be worthless for you to simply watch. You must practice with me, kind Warden, to learn the next steps of the dance. I promise, it will be fun!”

Defeating Sten for real made her feel like she could take on anyone. She bit her lip. _It’s not a knife in the back I should watch out for now…_ “Ok. What’s next?”

Zevran’s grin grew. He retrieved his own swords and showed her a new starting stance: one foot forward, blades poised, and he touched her arm to raise it higher—she moved back with a gasp, harsh whispers in her ears. Karida bit her lip harder and ignored his confusion. The new maneuvers required more speed that she found difficult to muster after such a long day.

“I, ah, wanted to apologize, dear Warden, if I had offended you the other night.” Blond strands of hair were coming undone from one of his braids, and he tucked it behind a tan pointed ear. “I have the drink to thank for my lack of tact, but my words were not untrue.”

Karida sheathed her sword, and fiddled with the strap of her scabbard. “Oh. Yes, don’t worry about that. I figured you were…just drunk. Anyway,” her cheeks began to burn so she turned her head, “it’s only fair after I blew up on you with my, uh, temper tantrum.

Black tattoos crinkled as he chuckled. “I will admit I was taken quite off guard, but I am glad to have returned the favor you bestowed on me the night I ‘joined’. And if ever you need a knife in someone’s heart again, only ask.”

His touch thankfully did not bring on any nightmares the potion couldn’t keep at bay, but Karida awoke with an urgency to vomit that she nearly didn’t make it to the bushes in time. Footsteps hurried towards her so fast she almost didn’t have time to kick dirt fully over her mess.

“Oh dear, forgive me,” Wynne said, her face losing color. “I had to…go…” she pointed vaguely, turning her head, “I didn’t realize…” Then she noticed the black bile on Karida’s chin before she remembered to swipe it away, and the shock dwindled from Wynne’s eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

Karida muttered something about last night’s meal, and Wynne offered her an anti-nausea ward. “Morrigan’s cooking does not always sit well with me, either.”

At least the old mage asked no further questions, and it was Karida’s turn for dinner preparation the next evening. Alistair sat with his chin on his chest, nodding off near the fire, while Morrigan and Leliana saw to the horses. Karida slid her knife down the dead grouse’s breast. Blood trickled warm between her fingers as she probed beneath its ribs for viscera to throw to Dog, before rubbing her infuriatingly itchy nose.

“It too has a vendetta against feathered beasts, I see, but why does it paint itself with their blood? Is it to further deter them?” Those glowing orbs of Shale’s watched Karida’s hands intently.

Karida sniffed at the metallic scent on her upper lip and wiped her face across her sleeve to no avail. “I thought you only called Zevran the ‘painted’ elf. Does this mean I get a nickname now too?”

“He is the painted elf because he is always painted. You are not because until now, you never had paint. Is it not as simple as that? And no, chicken chaser, I think ‘it’ will suffice for it.”

“Hm, chicken chaser doesn’t have quite the same ring to it…” Karida shrugged, peeling back the grouse’s de-feathered skin from its breast muscle. Dog’s hot, wet nose nudged her shoulder, and she swatted him away. “Just you wait, you rotten beast, you’ll get some!” Yet there was another smell under that drool and blood, and Karida looked up at Alistair just in time— “Look out!!”

Just in time too late. Two genlocks appeared from the bushes, striking Alistair to the ground before Karida’s knife found one’s gullet. Darkspawn screeched from all around, then. Their vile sulfuric, fetid, disgusting stench all in her nose, her brain, her ears.

Blood, either Alistair’s or the chicken’s Karida knew not, made the leather slick beneath her fumbling fingers as she struggled to unbuckle his breastplate.

“A-Alistair, where…” There across his ribcage was a deep, black gash. “No, shut up, just—hang on.”

Sparks flew from mages’ staves while Sten yelled louder than any darkspawn. Dog took down another genlock charging for the Wardens. Shale pummeled the earth, sending darkspawn and the companions flailing to the ground. Wynne was the only left standing. Blue light emanated from her so brightly that Karida shielded her eyes just as all the beasts let out an awful, ear-splitting shriek.

They were writhing in the soil as the light faded, soon to be dead. Zevran crawled back up the hill while Leliana scrambled to Wynne, lying motionless, and she shook the old woman till she woke. 

“I…do not know quite what that was.” Wynne was breathing heavy, holding her wrinkled brow. “But…I am quite worn out.”

“’Tis strange, her magic just then,” Morrigan murmured. “Different than the usual Circle spells she’s cast.” Her thin, pale hands tore bandages apart from their roll. “I’m afraid your tunic is rent quite badly.”

Alistair’s lips curled into a pained, bloody smile. “Nothing…you can’t fix, right- _cough_ -Wynne?”

“Now see here, young man. We both nearly died just now.” Leliana helped Wynne hobble to the Wardens, her hands glowing bright blue against his purple and pink mottled chest. “Let’s not say anything you might regret.”

Karida stood, biting her lip so bad it bled. Maker— _what if I’d lost him?!_ Without Alistair, she’d be completely lost—the only Warden to take up the duty she barely understood. She had to walk away, and she stayed awake on watch practically the whole night while Wynne tended Alistair between bouts of sleep.

With half of them aching when the saddled up the next morning, they rode at a slow pace, and Karida insisted on riding with Alistair since he was only half-awake. He didn’t object, and he fell asleep with his head on her back almost instantly. Her hair grew wet with sweat under her helmet, and she steered the steed as best she could.

By the fire the next night, Alistair thanked her for saving him. “I think they’d’ve slit my throat if you didn’t wake me in time.”

“At least the rest of us would’ve been spared your cooking.”

“Oh-ho, very funny. Next time you almost die, I’ll be sure to mention the way you handle a horse.” He laughed when she elbowed him, and then his face warped in pain. “Ow—ouch, don’t do that! Look now, I’m being serious: did you sense any darkspawn? I don’t think I did till I was hit.”

“Can they mask their Taint from us? It didn’t feel the same as last time when I finally did begin to smell—sense them.”

“I’m not sure. Best two Wardens in Ferelden, amirite?”

Wynne interrupted their banter then to see Alistair’s wound. Magic never ceased to enchant Karida, and she watched like a child as white-blue light spread from Wynne’s old fingertips over the interior edges of the gash like thread that sewed together a portion that had come undone sometime earlier. “I realize I should offer some explanation for what happened yesterday,” Wynne sounded almost guilty as she held the ethereal needle. Before the sloth demon had ensnared her, she’d been injured protecting her pupils as they escaped. “I…died that day. But something kept me alive, something in the Fade. Not all spirits are as malevolent as the ones you saw. There are those rare, benevolent spirits of Justice and Valor, who wish only to help.” One such spirit of Compassion kept death at bay, a spirit Wynne believed had been keeping an eye on her in the Fade since childhood.

Karida, knowing nothing of spirits beyond those they’d already encountered, listened in wonder—while Alistair’s brow knitted in worry. “Wait, but doesn’t that make you a…an abomination? If the demon—I mean, spirit, can control you at times like yesterday?”

“I do not know, Alistair. It does not often show itself like that, and I _am_ myself.” Wynne looked down as she sutured the final knot as he winced. “But, I do think this means…well, I am very old. I do not think there is much time left in me. The spirit must know that, but I thinking it is helping me stay alive so I can aid you Wardens against the Blight.”

“That’s…incredible, Wynne, but do you think,” Karida pulled her lips to one side, “maybe you shouldn’t…don’t try such draining spells, then, please? We desperately need you, as you can see.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who cries for healing,” Alistair said indignantly. “And anyway, Karida’s right. We need you badly Wynne. So-o-o, as senior Grey Warden here, I…command that you don’t try drawing on your power more than necessary!”

“You have such a way with words, Alistair. Thank you both, though... It feels good to know a grandmotherly old woman like me is appreciated.”

***

It took most of the frosty morning to trudge up the cold mountain pass, and it wasn’t due only to its steepness. Highwaymen sprang upon them from the obscuring crags and cliffs. Alistair barely could lift his shield while Karida struggled to rein the horse in its panic, and Morrigan was yanked from her saddle.

“Oh yes, go for the most fragile-looking,” she quipped. And the brigand quickly realized his mistake when the dark, slight woman he held suddenly grew into an enormous brown bear that mercilessly tore into his throat. And when the rest of the men were done away with, Karida set a match to the wanted poster of the Wardens they had.

It wasn't much longer before they came at last to the market area outside the great entryway into Orzammar. There they spread out in search of food before heading into the underground unknown. Karida rolled her neck against her furry scarf. At least the snow wasn't falling hard... She wandered to a stall selling a hodgepodge of wool socks, canteens, cooking ware, explosive powder, and...

"Where'd that come from?" She pointed at the biggest sword she'd ever seen.

The merchant's face lit up, literally, as he lit his pipe. "Oh, found that a while back by the lake out east—these huge fellows all dead." Smoke puffed into Karida's face. "Too big for a little knife-ear. And no dwarf wants to buy it, taller than two of 'em stacked together it is. Aye, just sold one too, way heavier than the others, and I jus—I just..."

Sten was beside Karida then. "You just what?" The pipe fell from the man's lips.

Karida's eyebrows rose. "Huge fellows like him, right?" She leaned across the counter as the man coughed. "Who'd you sell to? If you're truthful, maybe Sten won't come back to rip your arms off."

"Uh- _cough-_ well, this collector or s-somethin' from Highever, he p-paid for most of 'em. Just—!"

He flinched at Sten's growl, and Karida pocketed the little bag of explosive powder with a smile as they left the stall. "You should come shop with me more often. And look, we've a lead on your sword!"

With their horses safely stabled and supplies refreshed, they ascended the stone pathway between high rock walls to an enormously tall door carved into the mountainside. There they encountered a messenger of Loghain demanding to be let in.

"Didn't know he was calling himself King now," Alistair muttered, hunching slightly from the effort of the stairs. 

"Well he doesn't know it now, but he's got real competition," Karida muttered back.

Ozammar was taking no visitors after the death of their own King not three weeks prior. Alistair showed the dwarven guards the Warden treaty. "That is the Assembly's seal..." How they must look in their bloodstained, dented splintmail, and dusty travel-worn clothes, and yet still he made out the emblazoned griffon. "Grey Wardens. I am afraid you'll find the dwarves unable to help at this time."

Karida gave Alistair a shrug. "Not the first time we've heard that."

And so with a great grinding of stone upon stone, the mountainside shuddered and pebbles streamed down as if from a waterfall, clinking off their helmets, and the grand doors of Orzammar were open to them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’ve been working on this story for some time now and hadn’t really meant to post it online when I first began writing.  
> I've been mostly using it as writing exercise, and I apologize for any weird verb-tense or abrupt sentence cut-offs; how I've got the story arranged currently is a frankenstein of its original setup.  
> Now that I've finally gotten up the nerve to just throw it out here, I hope someone might enjoy reading it (and quarantine is a really good time to finally getting around to posting). Please note: it touches on hard topics like rape, its trauma and aftermath, panic attacks, the goriness of fighting, and much of the horror of DA: O. And of course, all rights go to Bioware for the characters, themes, and places. Thank them for creating a world such as Thedas that has sparked the imagination of countless players. And thanks for taking the time to read this.


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